For Queen or Country
by Lionheart1967
Summary: Her Majesty's Government are desperate to seal a trade deal with the Democratic Republic of the Congo to guarantee access to the minerals that lay beneath the country. James Bond is used as a pawn in a conspiracy that threatens to set the world afire. He must decide where is loyalties lie when confronted with revenge and a threat that is rising from the East.


JAMES BOND 007

**For**

**Queen**

**Or**

**Country**

**A Thriller**

**Richard James Milner**

**Chapters**

**001 Kinshasa**

**002 The Paper Tiger roars.**

**003 Patrice Kitengi Adoula**

**004 The Democratic Republic of the Congo**

**005 Operation Tribune.**

**006 The Ex-fil**

**007 Cherry**

**008 Preparations**

**009 The Dragon stirs**

**0010 Beaulieu-sur-Mer**

**0011 The Company Car**

**0012 Queen of the Riviera**

**0013 Fasten your seat belt Mr. Bond**

**0014 Negresco**

**0015 Trade is everything.**

**0016 Churchill and Tallulah**

**0017 Burj Al Arab**

**0018 Dreams of death**

**0019 Gardens by the bay**

**0020 28 Nassim Road**

**0021 A shot in the dark**

**0022 The Ordre National du ****Léopard**

**0023 The Immortal Orchid**

**0024 The edge of Heaven**

**0025 An Orchard full of bullets**

**0026 A sense of déjà vue**

**0027 The Death pool**

**0028 Evora**

**0029 Mount Faber**

**0030 Singapore Sling**

**0031 The Eastern and Oriental Express**

**0032 Rosaline**

**0033 The American in the brown fedora**

**0034 The Pearl of the Orient**

**0035 Republique du Zaire**

**0036 A shockingly poor vintage**

**0037 Zeus's Son**

**0038 The Sleep and the Wake**

**0039 Black Swan**

**0040 Devil's Island**

**0041 Catch Fetiche**

**0042 Perignon 2003.**

**0043 HMS Albion**

**0044 An important decision**

**0045 Sincere Condolences**

**Epilogue **

**FOR QUEEN OR COUNTRY**

**001**

**KINSHASA**

James Bond pounded up the concrete steps. His heart threatened to burst as his lungs struggled to keep up with the exertion. Each intake of humid air burnt his nostrils; four down, four more flights of stairs to go. The small earpiece in his right ear burst into life.

"The target is moving into the high street. Are you there yet?" Bond ignored the question, as he pulled at the steel banister to drag himself upwards.

Three Black BMW 5 series cars turned onto the thriving high street and navigated their way around enormous pot-holes that populated the poorly maintained road. Busy shops, bars and cafes lined either side, people took shelter under the verandas from the intense sun, listening to rumba Lingala the local dance music and smoking. It was early evening and the shops and businesses were closing. Well-dressed people were leaving their place of work, heading back home to their families or taking the opportunity to de-stress in the local bars. Ladies in multi-coloured wraps gossiped in Lingala, the language of the street and flamboyantly dressed sapeurs, members of the Society for the Advancement of Elegant People strutted about as though they were on a catwalk in one of the fashion capitals of the world. They were a colourful distraction from the squalor that had embraced the Democratic Republic of the Congo. At the end of the street was a single tall characterless eight storey apartment building; slightly at odds with the multi-coloured low-level buildings with their corrugated iron verandas that lined the bustling street.

Bond's feet slipped as he dragged himself around onto the sixth flight of stairs. His leather soled shoes struggling to find purchase on the dusty concrete floor.

On the eighth floor, a man lay prone adjusting the telescopic sight on a Barrett fifty calibre sniper rifle. He lay on the balcony floor of an apartment that faced down onto the high street. Focused on the task in hand, he took a deep breath and began to track the second of the three cars.

Bond's thigh muscles protested as he took two steps at a time onto the seventh floor. He'd already demanded maximum effort from them as he'd sprinted a mile through the city in the oppressive African heat to reach the apartment block. His cotton shirt was soaked with sweat.

"It's the middle apartment. The balcony doors are open" Bond could hardly hear the information as blood rushed through his veins, pounding in his head.

The cross hairs of the telescopic sight followed the second car. Another slight adjustment brought the car into sharp focus. The sniper didn't have to see the occupants; intelligence told him where they would be seated. His finger moved from a holding position onto the trigger. The three cars slowed allowing a group of people to cross the road.

Bond reached the eighth floor; his Walther PPK was already in hand. He studied the apartment door in front of him, taking a moment to calm his breathing. He wiped sweat off his forehead with a silk handkerchief and then moved cautiously forward, the pistol held at arm's length in a two-handed grip.

The sniper was scanning the area around the cars; every person was a potential threat. He tracked a red Toyota pickup that was travelling in the opposite direction. He followed the vehicle until it had passed the three BMW's. The cars had come to a complete stop; He re-focused on the second vehicle. His finger hovered over the trigger of the Barrett. A slight noise distracted him. The gentle, quiet motions of the door lock being tested. He turned to satisfy his suspicion; there was the distinct crack of a 9mm round being fired and the splintering of wood: The cheap door had been forced open. The sniper scrambled for his side arm, a searing pain tore through his chest as a bullet entered him just below his right shoulder. A second bullet smashed into his right temple; killing him instantly.

Bond walked through the apartment, scanning for any additional threats. He stepped out onto the balcony and peered over the edge, careful to avoid the blood that had flooded the floor. The three cars had started to move again. He raised his left hand to his mouth and spoke into a small microphone.

"The target is clear" He turned and walked out of the apartment.

The three BMW's moved forward as the road was freed of pedestrians. The occupants of the vehicles were completely unaware of what had just occurred. The vehicles picked up speed passing a bright yellow fuel tanker parked at the side of the road delivering its contents to a small petrol station. As the first car passed the tanker a radio signal was transmitted to a package slung under the large fuel tank. The signal was received, turning a red light on the package to green. Milli-seconds later the two-pound Semtex charge exploded igniting the fuel in a massive solar fireball. Flames ripped through the buildings, snaking their devastation on either side of the street, incinerating anyone and anything in their path. The BMW's didn't stand a chance, tossed across the road like leaves in a storm; their own fuel tanks exploding as they smashed against the buildings opposite. The occupants died instantly. They were lucky that the impact had killed them, saving them from the horror of being burned alive.

**002**

**The Paper Tiger roars**

The chatter in the room fell silent as the Minister of Defence entered the press conference room of the Ministry of Defence, situated in Whitehall, London. He headed straight towards the lectern. Only the insect like clicking and flashing of journalists' cameras could be heard. David Eyre coughed to clear his throat and then began to speak.

"It's a real privilege and honour to speak to you today.

It's important to start off by asking the question, why do we fight? It is fundamentally, to protect our people, protect our interests where ever they may be, and, of course, to defend Britain.

As a nation, we've never shied away from acting even if that has meant standing alone as we did in the darkest hours of the Second World War. We have always stood up for our values across the globe. Defending our values has taken us to Kuwait, Bosnia, Sierra Leone and Kosovo; we have made a difference.

Today, Russia is resurgent in Eastern Europe and a more assertive China is developing its modern military capability to support its considerable commercial power; spreading its influence across new regions like the Indian Ocean and the Continent of Africa, creating a new Silk Road with its Belt and Road initiative; an initiative that masks an unnerving reality; a Trojan horse for the Chinese Communist Party to undermine the security and economic architecture of the international order. China's growing largesse may potentially come at the expense of international order. It is estimated that China's investment in these new regions will reach $1.3 trillion by 2027. Projects built with low interest loans as opposed to aid grants and all given with the condition of using Chinese firms; burdening countries with un payable debt. Exporting Chinas repressive vision of the world order backed up with financial penalties and implied military threats. A new form of Neo-Colonialism creating vassal states forever in their dept. The boundaries between peace and war are becoming blurred by the increasing use of technological warfare, subversion and propaganda. Please, let me be clear: this is not the relationship with China that we want … We remain open to a different kind of relationship and the option of dialogue will always remain on the table, but we must also be prepared for alternative outcomes.

Today, we see a world of spheres of influence and competing great powers. Not only are we confronting states like Russia and China, we are also fighting stateless entities like ISIS. But the very character of warfare itself is changing. The boundaries between peace and war are becoming blurred. Our adversaries are also our major trading partners who we are becoming increasingly dependent upon; a dependency that can cloud our judgement to the point of considering commercial interests over humanitarian ones. We must move away from the previous doctrine where we focused on business potential rather than scrutinising under a magnifying glass the human rights records of our trading partners.

We and our allies must deter such behaviour, not just accept a denial as the truth and be ready to defend ourselves and those less capable, ready to show the high price of aggressive behaviour, ready to strengthen our resilience and ready, where necessary, to use hard power to support our global interests in defence of the International order". David Eyre was in his element. He had been successful all his life. He achieved a first degree with honours in Business from his time at Nottingham University. He then applied that success to his own business, designing and supplying bespoke garden furniture. He used social media in the early days to sell his brand, even though he never really understood its attraction to the masses. Successful deals with reality TV programmes propelled his company into the stratosphere. It was then that he turned his attention to his other passion; politics. He left his business in the very capable hands of his wife Georgia and became the Conservative MP for the Cotswolds. Winning the bi-election of 2009; his achievement was mainly on the back of his excellent oratory skills. A rapid ten year rise through the ranks had brought him to this moment. A moment he intended to capitalize on. A strong performance now was vital to his career progression.

"We are a nation with a great inheritance; a nation that makes a difference. A nation that stands tall. Inevitably, there are those who say that we are in retreat. Those who believe that, as we leave the European Union, we turn our back on the world. But, this could not be further from the truth. Whether people voted to leave or remain, they believe Britain must continue to play an important and major role on the international stage: Projecting our power across the globe; whether it is political soft power or a more assertive hard power utilising our economic, military or technological might.

It is my belief that Britain has its greatest opportunity in fifty years to redefine our role. As we leave the European Union. We will build new alliances, rekindle old ones and most importantly make it clear that we are the country that will act when required. We should be the nation that people turn to when the world needs leadership and application of power. As we expand our trading partnerships defence will be pivotal in reinforcing Britain's role.

In an era of 'Great Power' competition we cannot be satisfied simply protecting our own backyard. The UK is a global power. It is a nation with the fifth biggest economy on the planet; a nation with the world's fifth biggest Defence budget and the second largest Defence exporter.

That is why Global Britain needs to be much more than a pithy phrase. It must be about action. And our armed forces and intelligence services represent the best of Global Britain in action. We will act alongside our friends and allies; strengthen the hand of fragile nations and to support those who face natural disasters; action to oppose those who flout international law; action to shore up the global system of rules and standards on which our security and our prosperity depends. And action, on occasion, that may lead us to have to intervene alone.

Now, I know there are some that question the cost of intervention. But it is often forgotten the cost of non-intervention: The fact that this has been unacceptably high. It will not always be the role of the traditional Western powers to act as a global policeman but nor can we walk-on-by when others are in need. To talk…but fail to act…risks our nation being nothing more than a paper tiger.

Our global presence must be persistent…not fitful: It must be patient, not fickle: Permanent…not fly-by-night.

So, as well as our relationships with Europe, we need to build on our established relationship with the United States, Australia, New Zealand and Canada as part of the Five Eyes; with Singapore and Malaysia in the Five Powers Defence Arrangement; with other ASEAN nations, with Japan, the Republic of Korea and India; with our partners in the Middle East, and with our many friends across Africa. Africa is a continent full of opportunity, not in the colonial sense, but as a partnership with governments eager to trade and share in the wealth of century spanning global governance that we can offer. If we are to re-immerge as an influential power in the continent, we must be aware of the influence China already holds over many African nations. We must be prepared to confront and hold to account actions that do not adhere to international law and be prepared to yield both soft and hard power. To that end I can announce we have agreed with Vice President Adoula of the Democratic Republic of the Congo to continue the work started by the late President Kabila. A task force will be put together to train Congolese troops and assist with bringing peace to the troubled Kivu region. We will also be redeploying the 3rd Medical Regiment of the Royal Army Medical Corps from their activities in Kenya to assist with the outbreak of Ebola in the same region.

From this spring, HMS Albion, along with five other naval vessels, will be permanently based in the Indian Ocean. Today, we also go further. And I can announce the first operational mission of the HMS Queen Elizabeth will include the Indian Ocean region to deter aggressive Chinese expansion: Making Global Britain a reality. Our vision of the world is shaped by individual liberty, the rule of law and, of course, the tolerance of others.

We are making sure our armed forces have enough mass to be in the right place, at the right time, with the right equipment to deal with the coming dangers.

We are committed to the international rule of law, committed to discussion, listening to alternative views, acting with restraint, even when our adversaries refuse to do so.

As we look forward to our increased involvement around the world, we must understand the strategic challenge of China's quiet expansion; it's a first order strategic challenge for us all.

We have to understand the opportunities and threats from China. Understand the consequences of their actions to protect their supply chains across the Indian and Pacific oceans. We must take a clear view on the implications of China's resource acquisition strategy in Africa. We must also be mindful that, as with Hong Kong, any agreement with China cannot always be relied upon. We therefore must decide which parts of our future relationship can be embraced, which need risk management, and which will always need a sovereign, or allied, solution. This may challenge the rules-based international order. Meaning we may operate in the 'grey zone', below the threshold of conventional conflict. Something we will be prepared for.

To finish I would just like to say something of this great nation.

Wherever I go in the world I find that Britain stands tall. This is because we have the world's finest and best Armed Forces and Security Services; brave men and women who stand up for the values that we hold dear; men and women that we are so truly proud of.

Brexit has brought us to a moment; a great moment in our history, a moment when we must strengthen our global presence, enhance our lethality, and increase our mass.

As we look to life beyond Brexit, I believe it is incumbent on us all to consider the role of Defence in our national life. Defence has always been the most vital and first duty of Government. But now we have an unparalleled opportunity to consider how we can project and maximise our influence around the world in the months and years ahead. It is up to all of us…from here on in…to make sure that our great nation seizes and grasps the opportunities that present themselves with both hands." David Eyre looked towards one of the television cameras and spoke with confidence "To those nations that believe they can flout the international order, we possess the World's most renowned intelligence services; we know what you are doing. You have been found out. So, from this day forward you have been given notice to cease and desist or you will face the full consequences of your actions". The room exploded in a loud, enthusiastic round of applause and flashing photography. The Minister of defence smiled as he folded his notes, bowed his head in acknowledgement of the accolade and walked off the stage pleased with his performance.

**003**

**Patrice Kitengi Adoula**

**BBC World News: **_President Joseph Menga of the Democratic Republic of Congo was killed yesterday in a freak car crash. His deputy __Patrice Kitengi Adoula who has been the guest of the UK Government discussing potential future trade opportunities is to return to Kinshasa immediately. He is believed to be the most likely successor to the late President._

David Mason switched the television off and sat back in the comfortable oversized leather chair and relaxed as the Gulfstream G650 jet aircraft levelled out at its cruising altitude of 41000 feet. The aircraft had just commenced the 3976-mile flight from London Heathrow to Kinshasa's N'djili Airport. The journey would take over ten hours. He looked across at the man he had been assigned to protect. The man was well dressed and his naturally muscular frame, built around a large bone structure was enhanced by a newly purchased bespoke light grey sharkskin single breasted suit from Gieves and Hawks number one Saville row store. Mason was tall and athletic, but this man dwarfed him. He wore a ridiculously expensive gold Rolex watch and was sipping an equally expensive single malt whisky. Patrice Kitengi Adoula was a natural born Congolese man and was tall, in excess of six foot. His skin was dark and glistened with a healthy sheen and his hair was tightly curled which he wore in a close militaristic crop. He was in his ascendancy, the man of the moment. As the Vice-President of the Congolese Peoples party he had just completed a visit to London at the British governments' invitation. All indications pointed towards him now being the next leader of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The British Prime minister had offered all sorts of support from financial to military, including the services of one David Mason, a member of the Special Air Service and expert in personal protection. Patrice Adoula was enjoying the adulation which had been bestowed upon him, he raised a cut-glass tumbler filled with a healthy dose of eighteen-year-old McCallen whisky and smiled at Mason.

"Are you sure you will not join me in celebrating our great success?"

Mason returned the smile. "Not while I'm working Sir. We have to take every precaution after to what happened to President Menga."

"His car ran into a fuel truck. How many of those do you find at forty-one thousand feet" Adoula laughed loudly.

"Still there were unusual circumstances; better to be safe than sorry Sir".

"It is your loss, but admirable none the less. Your Prime Minister was very kind to offer your services for my return journey, but she worries too much. What could possibly happen to me up here?" He gulped the whisky. The alcohol warmed his throat. He offered the empty tumbler to a stewardess for replenishment. She was slim, lithe with blonde hair tied in a tight bun. Mason thought she was attractive, her face pretty, even without the expert application of cosmetic makeup. It wasn't a coincidence that she could pass as a model. The jet was owned by a private company Billecart and Loxley, who were investing heavily in Adoula's campaign and they were doing everything to keep their client happy. The Presidential candidate did not hide his appreciation of the female form. His dark tired eyes followed the stewardess as she walked to the bar. He lingered over her perfectly formed calf muscles, shrouded in shear natural shaded stockings and enhanced to near perfection by high heeled patent leather shoes. Her navy-blue skirt strained across her firm behind as she bent to retrieve the bottle of whisky from a rosewood cabinet. A couple of large ice cubes were transferred from a leather coated bucket into the tumbler by tweezers and then another large amount of the amber fluid was poured over them. The cubes cracked and clinked as the glass was placed on a silver-plated serving tray and returned to the appreciative Vice-President. The stewardess smiled as she bent forward and offered the tray for Adoula to take his drink. He hesitated as his eyes caught the sight of the stewardesses' cleavage, revealed as she bent forward, unhindered by the open top buttons of her crisp white blouse. Her breasts were tightly held within the cups of a cream coloured silk bra. He grasped the offered tumbler and returned her smile. His eyes remained firmly locked on her as she rose to her full five-foot eight inches height, turned and walked to the front of the aircraft, where she joined a male steward, who was talking into a phone next to the cockpit entrance.

"She will be one of my wives, once we have satisfactorily concluded this election. I will propose tonight" Patrice Adoula took a swig from the tumbler whilst he signed a few documents that had been passed to him by one of his assistants. He signed it in a rather flamboyant manner. The pen he used was a Whitlock Chatsworth fountain pen made of English oak fashioned from a Scottish whiskey cask. The nib was plated in Welsh gold and the cap was an enamelled Union Jack. It was a gift from the British people presented to him by the Prime Minister. What was not widely known was that it contained some very small and intricate listening and tracking circuitry supplied by MI6. Adoula placed the pen in the inside pocket of his jacket and handed the documents back to the waiting assistant. He took a deep satisfying gulp of his whisky and then slumped back into his leather chair. The joint effects of a tiring week of diplomacy and the whisky had finally taken their toll. His grip loosened on the tumbler as he succumbed to his heavy eyelids. Masons slick reactions prevented the contents being spilt over the expensive maroon and gold thread patterned carpet. He swooped down like a bird of prey and snatched the tumbler in mid-air and returned it and its contents back to the bar area where he poured himself a cold glass of water. He savoured the refreshingly chilled liquid and surveyed his surroundings. The interior of the plane was spacious, although he still felt the need to stoop when standing. The interior fittings were of a very high standard, hand stitched cream leather seats and sofas and rosewood cabinets. One cabinet held a wide screen television hidden within. It revealed its self with a slick fluid robotic motion at the press of a button. The interior of the plane was separated into zones. The galley was at the rear of the aircraft, this was where the bar was situated and a small rest area for the stewards. A wash room and a separate shower was situated in front of the bar. Two oversized reclining chairs could be made into makeshift beds and the large sofa across from the wide screen television could also be converted into a double bed. There were a further eight chairs providing comfortable seating, four of which were positioned around a table that could be used for meals or business activities. The other chairs each had collapsible entertainment screens and small tables which folded out from the arm rests. Mr Adoula's aids were sat in the four forward seats. All were male and either asleep or being entertained by something on the small screens. Mason had already noted that the crew numbered four; the pilot and co-pilot, a male and female steward. Both stewards were trying not to disturb the sleeping presidential candidate as they reclined his chair, removed his shoes and gently placed a blanket over his still form.

"Sleeping like a log" the male steward spoke to Mason, as he shuffled past. The steward was tall, Caucasian, athletic and well-groomed and sported an expensive looking Rolex partially hidden below his shirt cuff. The private sector hospitality must pay well, Mason thought.

"We will be serving food shortly if you care..."

"No thanks". Mason cut the steward off in mid-sentence as he stared through one of the large panoramic windows. It was dark, but he knew they were somewhere over France. He returned to his seat and settled down for a few hours light sleep.

The feeling of a steady decent and a corresponding change in the pitch of the engines stirred Mason from a deeper than expected slumber. He pinched his nose and blew hard to relieve the pressure building in his ears. The engine noise immediately became louder as his ears popped. The cabin was in darkness and everyone appeared to be sleeping. He stood, adjusted his jacket and strode towards the wash room. The light was harsh to his eyes as he entered the luxury cubicle. He slipped the latch into the locked position and began rinsing his hands. He splashed the cool water onto his face. As he patted his moistened skin dry with a soft towel, he heard an ever so slight noise, barely audible over the screech of the plane's engines; A noise that caused the hairs at the nape of his neck to stand to attention. The noise was repeated, a low intermittent hissing noise. Mason recognised it immediately as that of a silenced weapon being discharged. He slipped his personal firearm, a compact Sig Sauer P238, free from its holster attached to the waist band of his trousers and then extinguished the light in the cubicle to allow his vision to adjust to the darkness in the main cabin. He heard movement outside the toilet. Adjusting his position, he pressed his back against the mirror, virtually sitting in the wash basin. The silenced weapon was again discharged. Half a dozen bullets ripped through the toilet door at torso height and embedded in the rear wall of the wash room. They didn't penetrate the fuselage, so were probably Glaser rounds, designed for operation during hijack scenarios of commercial airliners. The door rattled as someone tried to enter, but the lock resisted. Mason swiftly reacted. The Sig Sauer exploded thrice in rapid succession in the direction of the unknown assailant. The noise from the un-silenced weapon was deafening in the confined space. He yanked open the latch and threw himself forward smashing through the barely open door. He felt an immediate rush of air as he burst into the main cabin and saw that the main door had been opened. The lack of immediate violent decompression indicated that the plane had descended below fifteen thousand feet; way below the altitude it should be at. Mason turned to look into the cabin raising his weapon but felt a sharp blow to the back of his left knee and a searing pain to his scalp as his hairs were violently pulled backwards forcing his body to the floor. He glanced upwards through a haze of pain and momentarily saw the bloodied face of the stewardess before the butt of her Beretta smashed into his face, crushing his nose. The Sig Sauer erupted as Mason defensively lashed out sending bullets smashing harmlessly through the decompressed cabin. He struggled to his feet and glanced around, absorbing the whole situation. Mr Adoula was nowhere to be seen and neither was the male steward. Adoula's aides were still in their seats. All were in a permanent slumber; the only tell-tale sign of their plight being small entry wounds above and forward of their ears. The engines roared and the cabin tilted upwards as the plane began to steeply ascend. The stewardess had retreated towards the cockpit and looked down at Mason as she attempted to fit a portable oxygen mask over her head with one hand whilst holding the Beretta in the other; the left sleeve of her blouse was covered in deep crimson blood, a result of the opportunistic firing through the washroom door. Mason dragged himself upwards through the cabin, he moved with increased urgency; virtually climbing up the furniture as he realised the increase in altitude was an attempt to deprive him of oxygen. The Beretta exploded twice; each bullet missing their target and shredding the upholstery of a nearby chair. Mason raised his Sig, taking aim at the upper torso of the Stewardess. He was about to squeeze the trigger when the pilot appearing in the doorway of the cockpit, armed with a shortened version of a Heckler and Koch MP5K. Mason understood the increased threat from such a weapon and instinctively fired towards the cockpit. The pilot was thrown back against the control instruments. A growing patch of red appeared on his white shirt, just below his rib cage. The Gulfstream levelled to a shallower ascent as the weight of the pilots' body pressed against the joystick. The distraction caused by the pilot was enough for the Stewardess to launch herself forward, crashing into Mason and knocking his weapon out of his hand. Mason grappled with her, twisting the hand that held the Beretta until she was forced to release it. He kicked the pistol wildly out of harm's way but then received a knee to the groin swiftly followed by a jab to the throat. The pain doubled him up and he sank to his knees. Gasping: The Stewardess moved in for the kill and wrapped her right arm around Mason's throat. She tried to apply pressure to break his neck but was hindered by the wound to her left arm and his inherent strength. Sensing the danger, Mason dug deep within his resources and forced his body upwards, lifting the Stewardess on his back. He slammed her against the ceiling of the cabin. Her grip around his throat surprisingly tightened and started to restrict his breathing. He again pushed upwards crushing her against the ceiling and thrashed sideways smashing her against the fuselage. She held on like a limpet causing his vision to blur. The plane pitched forwards and downwards launching them both towards the front of the plane. They smashed against the furniture and the lifeless bodies of the aids; the force separating them, throwing the stewardess clear of Mason. She smashed through the wide screen television. He gasped for breath, the air burned his nostrils. The plane increased its decent, its engines screaming under the strain. The stewardess began to stir as she recovered from the winding impact. She tried to lift her body against the force that was pressing her into one of the planes leather seats. Her hand grasped the edge of the seat hauling her forward, searching for Mason. As her head turned, she was struck across the tip of the jaw by a powerful punch. Consciousness immediately evaporated. Mason pulled himself almost upright; the plane was rapidly descending at a steep angle. He moved towards the cockpit, almost throwing himself into it. Alarms were sounding, lights flashing, and a computerised voice was repeating the instruction to "Pull up. Pull up". The pilot was sprawled across the pilots' seat, his lifeless body pressing the control joystick forward. Mason used every ounce of his strength to move the corpse to one side so he could access the planes controls. He slipped into the seat and surveyed the mass of instrumentation. It was still dark, and the only visual sign of the plane descending was the digital altimeter spinning uncontrollably. Mason had received rudimentary flight training but was also accomplished in several flight simulators. He calmly pulled back on the joystick and reduced the throttle. The plane bucked and fought against his input, as the computer constantly over ruled what he was trying to do, logic deciding his actions were beyond the plane's capabilities. The altimeter screamed at him as the altitude descended below two thousand feet.

"Pull up. Pull up, Terrain proximity. Pull up".

The numbers on the altimeter began to slow in their rotation and the angle of descent levelled. The warning lights started to fade in intensity and the alarms stopped their incessant screaming. Mason couldn't help but let a relieved smile spread across his face. He eased off the joystick and increased the throttle. He looked around for the pilots' head set and searched the panel in front of him for the radio controls. He urgently needed to report his current situation. It was then that he noticed the Co-Pilot slumped in his seat; the left side of his head brutally smashed in by a blunt instrument, most likely the was a thunderous explosion as the cockpit windscreen disintegrated. Mason momentarily felt a rush of cold air engulf him. He didn't feel the bullets hit him, as the first entered at the base of his skull killing him instantly. Twenty bullets, a full magazine, entered the cockpit. Ten bullets found their target. Mason was thrown against the control panel; his weight pushed the joystick forward.

"Pull up. Pull up, Terrain proximity. Pull up".

The stewardess dropped the MP5K. She knew she wouldn't survive. The target had been secured and the mission was complete.

**004**

**THE DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO**

A pair of Stuhlmann's Double-collared Sunbirds flapped their metallic emerald coloured wings as they noisily took to the air, each expressing their displeasure at being disturbed as the black rigid inflatable boat sped past, its silhouette blended into the inky darkness of the Ubangi river. The noise of the single muffled engine could be heard only by the keenest of ears above the cacophony of wild animals. The RIB held four fully equipped men and was moving slowly enough to minimize the affect caused by its wake. The time was just past four in the morning, there would be a couple more hours before sunrise. As the boat rounded a sweeping bend in the river the engine went completely silent. Momentum carried the boat silently to the right bank of the river. Two men slipped gently into the water. The two remaining men manoeuvred the vessel and covered the area with a heavy belt fed machine gun. As the disembarked men clambered up the muddy bank onto dry land, the boat quietly pulled away and dissolved into the darkness.

The two soldiers made swift progress and were on the outskirts of their destination within a couple of hours. The town Gbadolite was more than seven hundred miles from the capital, Kinshasa and was once the home town of President Mobutu Sese Seko. Mobutu ruled what was then Zaire for the latter half of the Twentieth century. Gbadolite once an insignificant remote village with a population of 1,500 people living in mud brick huts was transformed, thanks to Mobutu's hoarded riches, into a new town hacked out of the tropical rainforest, with houses, schools, hospitals, municipal buildings, a five-star hotel, an airport and three palaces. By the mid-1990s Mobutu was dying of cancer and the town declined along with the dictator. He was finally driven from power and into Moroccan exile in 1997. Gbadolite, which seemed to owe both everything and nothing to the former president, appeared to be frozen in time, fossilized in 1997. Building projects remained unfinished while cranes and other machinery corroded as they stood idle.

As they neared the town there was a strong smell of smoke from the fires that had burned late into the night and would soon be reignited to provide cooking for the day to come. The heat and the rain and the volcanic ash mixed with the dust, the aroma of the river and the scent of rain, clouds thickened and lowered, and dark skeins of rain descended, the first violent gust arrived. The smells of Africa were overwhelming.

It was still dark, and the soldiers moved forward using night vision glasses attached to their helmets.

The streets were largely deserted; carcasses of several motor vehicles were dotted randomly around. The soldiers neared the large palace in the centre of Gbadolite their senses were immediately assaulted by the strong aroma of marijuana. The unfinished palace was a three-story marble-clad building where Mobutu held most of his public functions. It was now the home of the local rebel militia. Both soldiers shuffled silently past, unobserved.

Now the forest was rapidly reclaiming the town. Mobutu's palaces had fallen into ruin, looted by two successive rebel armies. Gbadolite's offices, banks and shops were largely empty. So were the streets, even though the town had some of the finest roadways in Congo.

Working vehicles were hard to come by in Gbadolite, there were several old trucks used by the rebels parked by the roadside.

One of the soldiers mounted an old Bedford truck, opened the unlocked door and slipped into the cabin. The streets were largely unpopulated; only the occasional pedestrians strolled by, making an early start, carrying fruits or goods for the nearby market balanced on their heads offering scant shelter from the rain. The soldiers had to be extremely careful not to be discovered. The whole mission depended upon them. The once pristine Boulevard Mobutu had lost its lustre and was now scared with potholes. Surprisingly the town had more night-time brightness than many remote parts of Africa thanks to a hydro-electric dam that Mobutu built on the Ubangi River in 1989. It was under one of the street lights that the second soldier found what he was looking for; an old Nineteen Ninety-four black Mercedes Limousine. Operation "Tribune" had begun.

Approximately twelve hour later, twenty bodies plunged through the inky night sky. Limbs tightly held to their body, ridged. Dressed in black they wore helmets and facemasks supplied with oxygen from small tanks strapped across their stomachs. Weapons and equipment were also strapped tightly to their torsos. Bags holding vital rations and ammunition were held between their legs, giving them a slight delta shape as they plummeted downwards into the abyss. Before leaving the safety of the 47 Squadron Royal Air force Hercules C4 all had breathed pure oxygen for thirty minutes to purge their bodies of nitrogen and limit the chance of altitude sickness, a common risk with HALO, high altitude low opening jumps. Polypropylene underwear and a specially designed jump suit gave them limited protection from the minus forty-five-degree temperature, which could easily shatter their goggles and freeze their eyes shut. Jumps like this were not for the faint hearted and required extensive training and the ability to minimise the risk. Each man was like a wraith, rapidly descending towards the undistinguishable ground. The Hercules slipped anonymously away at an altitude of 35000 ft. When they reached six hundred meters above ground a pre-set altimeter deployed their parachutes.

**005**

**Operation Tribune**

"They're on the ground sir and we have a drone established in orbit at flight level 200, running covert". Tanner spoke quietly to M. Both men stared at a drone image which was displayed on a large screen attached to one of the walls of the Cabinet Office Briefing Room "A", more commonly known as COBRA, deep below Whitehall, London. The room was large, but crammed full of computer terminals, all manned. The only illumination came from the large LED screen and the smaller terminals. M stood with Tanner, the Prime minister and the Sectary of Defence. The drone image was night vision and so cast a green hue across the room. It showed a group of men busily burying their parachutes in the under growth and collecting their equipment together. All had landed on target. All were illuminated by a gently flashing marker, which only the drone's cameras could detect. To the bottom right of the screen another clump of illuminated markers could be seen.

"They're the experimental electric motor bikes. They'll acquire them by transmitter". Tanner pointed to the separate area of lights. As he spoke, eight of the soldiers separated from the main group and moved towards the bottom right of the screen "There, they have them. This group will move to the airfield, secure it and await the extraction" Tanner explained to the Prime minister and the secretary of Defence. "The larger group..." He pointed to the screen, zooming the image out to show a greater area of land "will head to our target area here". Both politicians nodded but remained silent.

"Secure radio check good. Mother Goose, all your eggs have hatched". Captain Dan France of the 22 Special Air Service spoke into a radio mike confirming the mission was on schedule and going to plan. Eight of his men, two squads, under the leadership of Lieutenant Ryan Green had separated from the main group and were now making their way to the local airport on their silent electric motor bikes. They were instructed to secure the airport, clear the runway and install markers so the Hercules could land for extraction. Two squads were considered enough, as the airport had rarely been used in years. Limited resistance was expected. The larger three squad group of twelve men set off walking in a north easterly direction to their main objective, the Palace.

"One hundred thousand trees, 20,000 tons of marble are the ingredients of Xanadu's mountain. Contents of Xanadu's palace: paintings, pictures, statues, the very stones of many another palace — a collection of everything so big it can never be catalogued or appraised; enough for 10 museums; the loot of the world ... Since the pyramids, Xanadu is the costliest monument a man has built to himself". M quoted softly.

"M?" The Prime Minister didn't understand.

"It's from the film Citizen Kane describing a rich man's folly. Quite like the one we're about to enter; A monument to the excess of President Mobutu Sese Seko". He pointed to a map displayed on one of the large screens. "Kawele is seven miles outside Gbadolite. Mobutu built two palaces within a walled compound; one a Chinese village built by the Chinese government". A screen showed alternating before and after images of the village consisting of Chinese pagodas, with tall roofs of jade and orange glazed tile that surround well stocked ponds. The current photograph showed the buildings to be in remarkably good condition after decades of neglect, although the ponds were now dry. "This village was used primarily as a residence for Mobutu's family and guests. The other palace was named Eagles Nest. This was Mobutu's former private residence and is our objective" The photographs showed a gaudier modern mansion built in red brick with water fountains and a tiered swimming pool. The current image showed a striped-out shell of a building that was being reclaimed by the surrounding jungle.

"What happened there?" The Prime Minister pointed to the current image.

Tanner glanced at M. Don't Politicians read their briefing documents he thought?

"The back-ground information is in the COBRA briefing pack reference number 257-199978- 0818A Appendix 2 ma'am, but I shall give a brief explanation whilst we wait. Joseph-Désiré Mobutu, to use his real name, was the brutal President of Zaire between 1965 and 1997, the archetypal African dictator. During the Cold War he was an important ally of the West. We saw him as a bulwark against Soviet expansion in Africa. Gbadolite was his home town and as tradition demanded of successful men in most African cultures it was typical for Dictators to turn their home villages into nepotistic showplaces, spreading the wealth among family and friends. Mobutu helped himself to the profits of Zaire's enormous gold, cobalt and diamond reserves. Our American and French cousins were fond of him, as were the Chinese who supported his anti-Soviet stance. He was as smooth as they come; dining at the Whitehouse and the Palace of Versailles and hoodwinking naive legislators and their appropriation committees on Capitol Hill. He was given millions of dollars of Western aid; money that went straight into his own pocket. It is thought he embezzled a massive total of $15 billion throughout his reign. No one in the international community batted an eye lid as he bled his nation dry, it was how things worked back then. As his crooked reign continued the economy of the country crumbled, ravaged by uncontrolled inflation, a large debt, and massive currency devaluations, but unsurprisingly Gbadolite thrived. Meanwhile, back in the capital, Kinshasa, soldiers, unpaid for months, were on a rampage lead by the rebel leader Laurent Kabila, who was backed by Rwanda and Uganda. When the Cold war ended Mobutu was mercilessly dropped by the West and his reign soon ended with the country descending into a bloody civil war in 1996. The trigger was the Rwandan genocide of 1994. In its aftermath two million refugees fled into eastern Congo. They were not the victims, but the perpetrators, along with their families and weapons. The forces of Paul Kagame, Rwanda's Tutsi strongman, had chased them into the rainforests of Zaire. When they used the forest as a base to attack Rwanda, he invaded his giant neighbour, twice, to slaughter them. The first time he overthrew Mobutu and. Mobutu tried to cling onto power but was terminally ill with prostate cancer and his last remaining supporters, the Chinese, soon lost faith. He went into exile in Morocco in 1997 and died three months later. Zaire was renamed the Democratic Republic of Congo. Rwanda put Joseph Menga's father Laurent Menga in the palace, who ruled until he was assassinated in 2001. The country descended into a bloody civil war that has seen no end, its society fractured. The government has struggled to control the resource rich country. Mining of minerals such as gold, diamonds and tantalum had frequently been fought over. Armed groups constantly fight for governance of mines and smuggling routes into neighbouring countries like Rwanda and Burundi. The effect on the people of the country was tragic. Instead of reaping the rewards of the mineral-rich land, they have been controlled, murdered and raped by the rebels. Since the 1990s, the DRC has had leaders that have turned a blind eye to security guards, militia, and Congolese soldiers seizing authority of the mines and lining their own pockets with profits from mineral smuggling, while wielding weapons and perpetrating sexual violence.

With his departure Gbadolite lost its raison d'être and went into a spiral of sharp decline. All his palaces were ransacked by rebels and stripped bare; the contents most likely being sold in the markets of Bangui in the Central African Republic. Politically Mobutu left the DRC in chaos, a chaos that it has struggled with for the past twenty years, even with all the mineral riches it possesses. This is what is left of his Empire". Tanner concluded and gestured to the multiple maps and photographs on the screens.

The team had made good progress from the drop zone and were now at the edge of the estate in the village of Kawele. The roads were in unusually good condition. A decaying brown and gold gateway stood on the edge of the grand estate opposite a cluster of small homes made from mud, wood and dried grass. The team quietly passed the make shift homes. They moved past vegetation and anthills, which were now reclaiming the driveway and approached the control box where security staff had once vetted visitors arriving in Mercedes limousines and now provided a sheltered home for the local wild life. The structure was huge and out of place. It sat in between two roads. A canopy covered both; the left-hand road appeared to have been barricaded with rusting scrap metal, but was now passable, the scrap pushed to one side. The other road was blocked by the original wrought iron gate, almost three meters high and securely chained closed. The soldiers silently passed through staying on the road; the fields to either side were full of unknown dangers; mines laid from the years of civil war. They moved with urgency, almost jogging and only restricted by the weight of their kit. They advanced up the winding drive for nearly three kilometres, six men either side of the roadway, all wearing night vision goggles and all with their weapons pointing forward at the ready. Most soldiers carried Colt Canada C8 5.56mm carbines fitted with sound suppressors. One soldier out of the team carried the FN Minimi squad machine gun. Every soldier also carried at least one back up firearm. The team momentarily halted half way up the driveway as the road forked. To the right was a road that led to the Chinese palace. Captain France directed his team to the left, with a wave of his hand towards their target; the Eagles Nest.

The SAS team moved rapidly up the road. As they came to a bend, which swept to the left, they could see the silhouette of a tall canvas backed truck and a large car parked at the road side. The team slowed almost to a stop, each man scanning the surrounding area. Captain France strode up to the car and bent down to look in the driver's side window.

"Bond?"

"Captain France I presume. Nice of you to drop in". James Bond was slouched in the driver's seat of a 1994 Mercedes limousine. The car was in need of a wash and polish, but otherwise in excellent condition for its age. Bond and Corporal Broadhead of the Special Air Service had entered the area twelve hours earlier by boat. Their mission was to reconnoitre the area and acquire suitable transport for the journey to the airport. Corporal Broadhead was sat in the elevated cab of a beige 1960 Bedford truck; it was a little battered but again was mechanically sound.

"A Mercedes?" Captain France raised his right eyebrow.

"A little trick borrowed from the Israelis when they raided Entebbe. Any guard will think we're the local General or whoever is in charge around these parts paying an impromptu visit".

Captain France walked around the car and motioned to his team to climb aboard the truck. He then opened the passenger door and slipped inside. The vehicles engines simultaneously burst into life disturbing the insect melody that constantly played in the background. The Mercedes moved smoothly and quietly, whilst the Bedford truck set off with a crunch of its gears.

It was tempting to drive without the headlights turned on and make use of the night vision equipment, but a local dignitary wouldn't find the need to be so subversive, so as part of their cover both vehicles illuminated the road ahead. A guard in loose fitting combat fatigues and carrying a long FN FAL semi-automatic rifle walked into view waving at them to stop as they approached the entrance to the Eagles Nest.

Bond slowed the Mercedes to a slow crawl and as the guard crouched to look into the car two silenced shots were fired. The guard slumped to the ground dead.

A five-meter high earth mound, now heavily over grown with vegetation, surrounded the palace grounds. Access to the palace was through a tunnel clad with rough red bricks. The SAS squads dismounted the truck and moved through the tunnel. Their first impression of the palace was one of a derelict factory, which belied the millions of dollars that had been lavished on it; such was its dilapidated state. One team of two soldiers peeled off and ascended the earth mound and commenced setting up a machine gun post and sniper position. The machine gun, a Fabrique Nationale FN Minimi 5.56mm shortened Para version, was primarily to guard against any unexpected enemy troops approaching the palace compound from the road. A C8 carbine fitted with the M203 40mm grenade launcher and a M 72 Laws rocket launchers were placed within easy reach to support the firepower from the Minimi if required. A sniper scanned the remains of the palace through a Schmidt & Bender 5 –25 x 56 PM 11 LP telescopic sight attached to his Accuracy International L115A1 7.62mm rifle. He observed the team of twelve soldiers approach the remains ofa tiered fountain that was built in the style of Versailles. The palace was an empty shell; little remained of its wealth. The giant circular bay that once held water was now a dry home to a thousand weeds.

Beyond the remains of the fountain stood the imposing entrance arch; four steps lead to what was once the atrium; a dozen marble-clad pillars bore skyward, redundantly supporting a long-gone tiled roof. It was against one of these pillars that the sniper observed a guard slumped at the bottom, asleep. The sniper touched his throat mike of his secure intercom.

"Tango right, against the pillars".

The squad halted their shuffling advance. The lead soldier cautiously moved forward with a knife in hand. The guard was quickly dealt with and dispatched to a more permanent slumber.

"Tango down".

Beyond the marble pillars lay the remains of another fountain_. _Statues of proud lions once adorned each corner. Only two of the forlorn big cats were still in position. The other two had no doubt become victims of looting poachers. The team split into smaller six-man squads. One advanced into the interior of the palace. The other moved around the exterior. "A" squad lead by Captain France moved along the corridors that once lead to the master bedroom. The large square room was now empty, the luxury bed and fixtures that once furnished the room and magically rose from the floor at the switch of a button were absent and the remaining alcove contained a pond of green algae. The whole palace was being reclaimed by the jungle from which it was carved. Bushes, flowers, vines, weeds, even trees shot up through every available crevice. Ribbons of green sprouted from tiny cracks in the concrete and marble. Vines crept across floors where Presidents and Kings once walked. The entire roof of the palace had gone, leaving only a skeleton of red steel girders punctuated by tall trees rising higher than what used to be the ceiling. Hives and nests shared space on the walls with graffiti in a half-dozen languages and crude drawings of naked women. Mattress foam, smashed marble and slivers of glass crunched underfoot as the squad moved forward. They moved through the bedroom. Three men cleared the large dressing room that flanked the bedroom and three-cleared an adjacent bathroom. Each room was empty, stripped of their gold taps and marble dressers. The walls had been re decorated with graffiti by bored rebel soldiers. Remnants of two Jacuzzis - one circular and one rectangular were now home to a thick green soup that was a breeding ground for mosquitoes. Captain France turned to Bond, who was immediately behind him and asked with an edge of impatience.

"Are you sure your intelligence is correct. This place looks virtually deserted".

"Patience Captain the intelligence is good. He's being held here. We just need to locate the bunker". James Bond removed his night vision goggles and pushed passed the officer, moving into a room that was once the dining room. A massive marble table remained in the centre - too heavy for looters to move and twisted remnants of chandeliers hung from the steel girders along with ominous spindly looking insects. Bond took out a rubber coated digital tablet from a large pocket in his jacket and laid it out on the table. He switched it on and viewed a schematic of the area. He jabbed a finger at it. "Using a process of elimination; my guess is that it's here".

As "B" squad moved across a marble-tiled terrace, the ghostly voices of dapper-suited diplomats, watching the setting sun and making small talk amid a chorus of crickets, whilst drinking gin and tonics could almost be heard. It was an African Versailles that was slowly disappearing, a living testimony to the fragility of civilization. One thing remained unchanged – the surrounding stunning, green, tree-dotted, hilly landscape of Africa. The soldiers moved along a large veranda. Again, their progress was announced by the crunch of shards of broken glass under foot as they moved down an overgrown staircase that joined from one tiered swimming pool to another, the pools crumbling blue tiles yielding to multiple flora and long grass, with algae again dominating the little vestige of water that remained. The gardens were overgrown with so much hibiscus, creeping vines and bush that the palace seemed more like an archaeological site than a place that was abandoned. A rusting skeleton of a burned-out Cadillac was being choked in the embrace of a tree. It was from around this wreck that another guard emerged out of the long grass. A cigarette held loosely between his lips illuminated his face and emitted the stench of the local weed. His eyes widened when he saw the intruders. He scrambled to raise his Kalashnikov AK47 that hung loosely from his shoulder. Before he could raise the alarm, three silent rounds cut across his chest from a suppressed C8 carbine.

"Tango down".

The squad continued and neared the former garage, once home of exotic sports cars and luxury limousines; it was now unrecognizable from its former glory. Like the rest of the palace looters had gutted it and nature was now retrieving what had been taken from it. Silenced weapons swiftly dealt with two more lethargic guards, as they entered the garage. The lead soldier spoke into his mike as he cast his eyes over two massive steel doors.

"We've found the entrance. It's in the garage".

"Good". Bond replied with authority and taking command "we'll rendezvous there". It was his mission now.

Tanner lent over M and whispered in his ear. M stood and turned to the Prime Minister,

"There's a broadcast just started on social media Prime Minister". He directed the PM to one of the large screens on the wall. A blurred image came into sharp focus. A Negro man was slumped on a chair in front of an old, heavy wood table, his arms loosely hanging by his side and his head bowed. Thick bloody saliva oozed from his mouth, momentarily hanging from his swollen lips, before dropping onto his soiled grey trousers. Blood flowed from a broken nose, dripping onto his filthy, torn white shirt. He stirred, lethargically raising his head, and looked directly at the camera through eyes, which were almost closed from a severe beating. Cheeks bruised and split, glistened with sweat and blood. His tightly curled black hair was wet and matted. He looked physically defeated, yet he defiantly looked down the camera lens. Movement behind the camera could be heard and a tall, stocky dark-skinned man in military fatigues strode into view.

"You think you can take what isn't yours?" his open hand brutally slapped the captive's bloody cheek as he spoke directly at the camera "You know what we do to common thieves. You sent soldiers to rescue this pathetic man and we wiped them out. Their blood is on your hands ". His big hands grasped the captive's right arm and slammed it down on the table. The captive tried to resist, but his body was weak, and the soldier was very strong.

"Did you hear that? What does he mean the rescue team has been wiped out? We've not heard anything". The Prime Minister anxiously questioned.

"Tribune confirm your statues over". Tanner calmly spoke into a microphone hiding his unease. Several very long seconds passed before the speakers crackled.

"A squad is advancing".

"B squad are holding".

"He could have been referring to a local militia. There are numerous factions in the area. All of who would love to possess the kind of leverage a hostage like Adoula would bring". M tried to calm the visibly shaken Prime Minister. Their attention was drawn back to the screen. The soldier with his closely shaved head hidden under a red beret, looked directly at the camera. He pressed down hard on the arm with his left hand and withdrew a machete from his belt with his right; Raising it above his head.

"Let this be a lesson. Our country is not for the taking. All your puppets will meet the same fate". He spoke, not to the man, but directly to the camera. The machete came swiftly down severing hand from arm and embedding the blade in the hard wood table. The captive screamed and bucked violently. Restrained by the soldiers' weight, his arm was raised displaying the stump so the camera could capture the full horror. Blood sprayed onto the lens, coating it like a crimson curtain.

It was a well-known fact that Mobutu had built the largest nuclear bunker in Africa that could house more than 500 people and was the only nuclear bunker in Central Africa. It was also thought that the bunker was connected to the Ubangui River by a secret tunnel that gave access to the military harbour at the village of N'dangi, until it fell in to disrepair and flooded making it impassable. The exact location of the inland entrance though was not known until know.

The four-man assault team entered the bunker first, led by Bond. Their combat fatigue had been stripped of all unnecessary kit. They carried just the pure essentials for the job; wearing only their body armour with the addition of a gas mask. Flash bang stun grenades replaced fragmentation grenades and each man carried the suppressed C8 carbine with a torch attachment, supported by a Sig Sauer P226 side arm. One man carried an additional sawn-off Remington 870 shotgun loaded with the Hatton round for breaching doors; this was hung under his right arm with parachute cord. The doors had been unlocked and no additional guards were seen in the immediate vicinity. The team cautiously descended a set of steep concrete stairs; two men either side of the staircase, keeping close to the wall. The remaining team guarded the entrance and were ready to give support if called up on.

"Stairs clear".

Bonds sensors were buzzing. His breathing was amplified in the gas mask. He had trained for this occasion several times in the kill room at the SAS headquarters in Hereford. Their pace began to increase as the stairs were cleared and they entered a long corridor with several rooms branching off it.

"Corridor clear".

The team began to enter the first room. The bunker had been changed many times since it had been built, with additional rooms added. The first two were clearly a make shift kitchen and dining room. Two men entered each, their carbines scanning every inch of the room. Both were empty. A third was also uninhabited and contained a mass of communication equipment.

"Rooms 1-2-3 clear".

Screaming could be heard coming from behind the wooden door of the fourth room, which was positioned at the end of the well-lit corridor. Bond motioned the team forward. They were now in a potential kill zone if the enemy were to be made aware of their presence. Two of the SAS team approached the door and slipped a fine fibre optic camera through the small gap under the door. With a little manoeuvring the number of people and their positions in the room could be viewed on a small LCD screen. The third team member placed a shaped breaching charged to the door. Each man then moved back, ready to go through a well-rehearsed procedure.

"Where the hell are our boys?" asked a shocked and concerned Prime Minister.

"That's a very good question". M murmured beneath his breath.

As though they could hear a thousand miles away, the radio communication burst in to life.

"A squad ready to breach; three tangos".

The crimson curtain was wiped away with a cloth. Smearing across the lens and then polished to oblivion by an unseen hand. The soldier stood behind the captive, his left hand clenched the tight black curled hair on his victim's head, aggressively pulling it upwards. His right hand held the blood-stained machete pressed against the man's throat.

"He wanted to be head of the state. I give you his ..."

"Good God!" the Prime Minister looked at M. Not believing what she was about to see.

A loud explosion could be heard over the situation room speakers. The image on the screen turned an incandescent white. Frantic movement was heard over the speakers interspersed with the _thup,_ _thup_ of silenced automatic fire.

The door splinted into a thousand shards. Bond stepped through the opening and fired his silenced carbine twice. Two bullets hit the stunned machete holding rebel in the head and throat, slamming him back against the concrete wall. His eyes swelled wide with shock. The bloody machete clattered loudly on the floor.

"Tango one down".

Two SAS troopers followed close behind, peeling off to either side and neutralizing the remaining oppositions with expertly aimed bursts of 5.56mm ammunition.

_Thup, thup_.

"Tango two down".

_Thup, thup._

"Tango three down".

"Clear". All three men called.

More soldiers entered the room immediately attending the wounded man. Bond scanned looked around; it was dark and literally a mess. His eyes though were drawn towards the heavy wood table in the centre of the room. Amongst all the clutter was a broken fountain pen that had been snapped in half. Unusual paper-thin circuitry boards were visible and bare. Bond knew exactly what they were. The tracking device had ceased to work more than 24 hours ago, but crucially it had enabled the approximate location of the target to be pin pointed. Another marvel from Q branch thought Bond as he pocketed the broken pieces. Something else on the table was out of place; a Chinese QCW-05 submachine gun. The silenced weapon was of a bull pup design; the curved, quadruple-stack magazine was inserted behind the trigger feeding fifty short 5.8×21 rounds to its chamber. Bond knew the QCW-05 was issued to the People's Liberation Army of China's special operations forces and was not the usual AK47 he had expected to see in the hands of a rebel force.

"Not something I was expecting to see here". Bond pointed to the sub-machine gun and the Mandarin markings on the side. An SAS squaddie took photographs. "See if there are any more unusual items. Something doesn't feel quite right".

The hostage was sat on the floor, lent against the table and was being attended to by a medic, who was busy stemming the flow of blood from his severed hand. Bond knelt down next to both men and offered the hostage a bottle of water, which was gratefully accepted.

"Mr Adoula, I presume". Bond spoke quietly. It was hard to tell whether the man smiled or grimaced through pain.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Commander James Bond. Sir".

**006**

**The Ex-fil**

The effects of the stun grenade began to subside and the image on the large screen began to clear. The camera had been knocked on its side. The rebel could be seen slumped against the concrete wall. A large streak of blood decorated where he had slid down after receiving a fatal bullet to the forehead. A medic was crouched over the captive attending his wounds. The screen went blank. Someone had turned the camera off.

"The target is secure" Captain France's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Good". The Prime Minister clasped her hands together. A smile spread across her face.

"We're not out of the woods yet". A cautious M warned.

"The target has received critical injuries. We are stabilising and then will be ready to move. Send in the cavalry". Captain France informed the watching group.

Lieutenant Ryan Green dismounted his motorbike. All was quiet, apart from the continuous orchestra of insects. The eight-man team had arrived at the perimeter of Moanda airport. They could see the dilapidated control tower; much of its light blue cladding had fallen away, along with all its windows. The runway was built long enough so Mobutu could charter a Concord from Air France. The ill maintained airstrip now only welcomed two or three small aircraft a week. It was Lieutenant Green's primary task to secure the immediate area around the runway and ensure it was clear enough for the Hercules to land. A quick assessment indicated that although cracked and ridden with weeds there would be no major hindrance for the Hercules. A careful sweep on their silent motorbikes would confirm this. The long wild grass that bordered the runway caused some concern, as no one knew what secrets were held within, although intelligence considered there was a low level of threat from the local rebels. The bikes moved on towards the deserted control tower and nearby tagine shaped VIP arrivals lounge with much of its golden cladding, surprisingly still intact. They passed carcasses of a Soviet Hind helicopter gunship and a couple of soviet Mig 21 jet fighters, all barely recognizable in their current stripped-down condition; all empty shells that mirrored the current state of the once luxury airport. Remnant pieces of the helicopter engine lay redundant amongst the idle portable staircases. Four SAS soldiers dismounted and made their way along an avenue of flagless poles which led the way to the large arrivals lounge. This squad moved to secure the lounge, whilst Lieutenant Green and three troupers secured the control tower. The tower useless for its intended purpose, with no equipment or furniture, would act as a perfect observation post, as it gave a clear view of the approaching roads from both Kewele and Gbadolite.

The four-man squad moved methodically through the arrivals building, there were all the familiar check-in desks and a luggage conveyor belt that an operational airport would have, but all were long dead. Wall paintings of topless women and muscle-bound men, which adorned the lounge, were fading and peeling away. A mosaic of an African village was covered in senseless graffiti. The squad moved up an angular staircase that had lost its banister long ago. They tentatively moved up into the VIP arrivals lounge where they were greeted by an image of Mobutu. The painting depicted him in crisp white military tunic with cap, spectacles and green sash, his hands gripping a rail as if surveying an adoring public. An inscription below it read "Ngbendu wa za Banga" (meaning "the all-powerful warrior who, because of endurance and an inflexible will to win, will go from conquest to conquest leaving fire in his wake"). It was here that the squad found half a dozen sleeping rebel soldiers. The air was thick with the smell of the local weed. All six were guaranteed never to wake again.

"Mother Goose, the nest is secure, and your chicks are feeling hungry".

Lieutenant Greens team found the tower to be unoccupied and immediately set about creating an observation post with sniper rifle and light machine gun positions. Between them they had an impressive armoury; an FN Minimi, three C8 carbines each with a grenade launcher attached; One Heckler and Koch HK 417 7.62mm semi-automatic sniper rifle, one M72 Laws rocket launcher, four Sig Sauer P226 handguns and a multitude of grenades.

Bond looked down upon the burnt-out shell of the helicopter, it had crashed metres beyond the swimming pool were the land began to fall away, sloping down towards Gbadolite. The aircraft was hidden from view only its tail rota awkwardly twisted at right angles reaching towards the rising sun could be seen from the palace. Bodies in black combat fatigue were scattered around the stranded vehicle and at least two more were visibly strapped within the chard cockpit. Insects were rampant, the noise deafening and the smell stomach churning.

"It looks like we're not the only ones who crashed the party"

"Sword of Southern China special forces?" Captain France identified the Chinese equivalent of the SAS.

"A Harbin Z-20, a copy of the Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk. Special operations helicopter of the PLA. This explains the equipment we've been finding. Just take the usual photographs and video. We need to stay on schedule and we'll not get any useful intelligence from this wreck. I'll inform London". Bond decided to wait until the mission was complete before he added this little complication. He did wonder though; what the Chinese involvement in the kidnapping had been or could this have been a failed rescue attempt?

The Bedford truck and Mercedes were brought up to the derelict garage entrance. Patrice Adoula was lifted into the back of the truck on a makeshift stretcher. Several troopers climbed in beside him. Captain France slipped into the front passenger seat of the Mercedes and was accompanied by Bond, who elected to drive. Two troopers jumped in the back seats. Captain France's radio ear piece crackled into life.

"A technical has just passed our position, heading your way. At least three tangos on board". The observation post set up in the airport control tower reported.

"Ok we'll meet and greet them". Captain France nodded towards Bond, who set the vehicle in motion "Corporal Broadhead, hang fire until we give the all clear". He instructed the driver of the truck. The Mercedes snaked down the debris covered driveway and through the brick tunnel.

The technical was an old Toyota utility vehicle with a flatbed on the back. This had been converted to carry a heavy 50 calibre Browning machine gun which was manned by a scrawny young local soldier. The vehicle had stopped at the great gates of the entrance and the two occupants of the driver's cabin had climbed out and were cautiously looking around. A sense of panic came over the two soldiers as they became aware of a vehicle bearing down upon them at great speed with its headlights on full beam. The soldiers wildly gesticulated, waving their Kalashnikov's in the air. The soldier on the Browning had stayed at his post and now cocked the weapon staring down its length, aiming it at the oncoming vehicle.

The Mercedes came to a rapid controlled stop several metres from the excited soldiers. They were screaming in French and waving their weapons for the occupants of the car to exit their vehicle.

"Ready". Captain France didn't wait for an answer as he fired his C8 through the windscreen at the nearest soldier, dropping him to the ground. Simultaneously the two SAS troopers from the rear sprung out of the Mercedes firing their weapons. The muzzle flashes lit up the immediate area. Bond crouched behind the cars door and fired his C8 at the second soldier, throwing him to the ground with several fatal bullet wounds across his chest. The two troopers from the rear let loose 30mm grenades from under their C8's barrels. Both hit the Toyota, bursting it into an inferno of intense flames. The soldier on the 50-calibre panicked and fired several bursts harmlessly into the air before he was engulfed by the flames of the explosion.

"Move". Captain France shouted into his radio; an instruction for the Bedford truck to burst into life.

"This is supposed to be a clandestine mission". The Prime minister lent forward and spoke sternly but quietly in to M's ear. The tension in the COBRA room was palatable.

"Yes. It would appear we have gone loud Prime Minister". M restrained his irritation. What did politicians really expect?

"It looks like it's going to get a whole lot louder sir". Tanner pointed towards the monitors. The drone loitering high above the area had a wide arc of view. Its infra-red vision camera picked up a convoy of vehicles starting to move in the town, heading towards the single road that led to the airport and onwards to the Eagles nest. The camera zoomed in revealing four large trucks, all with uncovered backs which were full of rebel soldiers followed by two technical's.

M turned to the Prime Minister "The drone is armed with two Hellfire missiles and two GBU-12 Paveway laser guided bombs. I need your authorisation if we are to use them. I believe we are now at that moment".

"Of course; if they will help to guarantee the success of this mission".

Tanner immediately spoke into a microphone which linked the command centre with RAF Waddington where the drone pilot was stationed. "You are authorized to go live. Take them out".

"We are greened up. Missile status is ready. Left and right selected for dual fire, coded and ready. Stand by". The pilots' voice could be heard over the rooms' speaker system as two AGH-114 Hellfire missiles were selected. One slung under each wing. The pilot manoeuvred the drone into an attack position.

"You are cleared to engage". Tanners' voice was loud and precise.

"Weapons are armed. All green". A confirmation beep chirped.

"Good laser. DPI is the centre of the lead vehicle. Crosshairs are on it now. Stand by. Weapon systems are on. Laser sensor: Check. Gimbal released. Slant range set. System power is nominal. Designated power is nominal. Missiles: Coded. Mean altitude set to standard. GPS signal Check. Satellite one lock is Check. Satellite two lock is Check. Weapons armed. Check. Weapons status is Check". There was another confirming beep from the console. "Targets are captured; ready on missiles one and two. Engaging targets". The pilots breathing increased.

"Three, two, one: Rifle, rifle, rifle. Weapons are away. The time of flight is 30 seconds".

The drone shook as the first missile detached its self from its mounts and the rocket motor burst into life propelling the missile towards its target. Shortly afterwards the second Hellfire commenced its plunge downwards. The two missiles streaked across the night sky bearing down on their unsuspecting targets. The first hellfire hit the truck at the front of the convoy. An intense white light darted from it as the warhead exploded tearing the vehicle and its occupants apart. The following vehicles took evasive action, swerving across the road and verge. The second Hellfire struck the third truck destroying it and sending flaming debris into the back of the second truck decimating the soldiers on board. The two technical's accelerated off the road into the bush that skirted the highway, making violent changes in direction to avoid the next incoming missile. The drone's cameras scanned the area and came to rest on the town where the old palace had been converted into a military barracks. More trucks could be seen leaving, fully laden with troops; half a dozen in total.

Lieutenant Green watched as the lorry and Mercedes raced by onto the airfield. He then scanned the road for enemy traffic; nothing. Corporal Davis and Private Hill manned the Minimi that covered the avenue leading to the terminal. Private Bartholomew, affectionately known as Barty scanned the surrounding area through the telescopic sight of his HK 417 7.62mm sniper rifle. He moved left to right scanning the bush to the right of the road. A disturbance in the undergrowth drew his attention. He adjusted his sight and was almost blinded by a flash.

"Incoming". He shrieked as the RPG round snaked its way towards the control tower. The round exploded against the roof ripping a section away, but with most of the force being directed harmlessly upwards. Each soldier had instinctively curled into a protective ball once the warning had been shouted and were only covered in light debris. Barty immediately refocused his sight on the last known area where the rocket had been fired from. The form of a skinny Congolese rebel loomed large in his sight. The rebel was clumsily reloading his RPG. Barty didn't hesitate as he gently squeezed the HK's trigger. The rebel was thrown backwards with a large section of his skull missing.

Two technical' s burst out of cover, their mounted 50 calibre machine guns bursting to life, raking the tower with heavy bullets. Corporal Davis and Private Hill returned fire with the Minimi, as masonry filled the air around them. The machine gun buzzed and silenced one of the big guns. Lieutenant Green snapped open the M72 LAWs rocket launcher as he crouched behind what was once the traffic controllers' desk. He pulled the tube, extending the length to almost four foot, flicked up the rudimentary iron sight, waited for a lull in the 50-calibre onslaught. When the moment came, he stood up and quickly acquired one of the technical in his sight. He calmly pressed the fire button and felt the rocket ignite and burst forward. The warhead spiralled down towards its target striking the vehicle fatally in the drivers' cabin. The whole vehicle exploded in a burst of intense light. The heat could be felt at the top of the control tower. The second technical was peppered with the Minimi and several precisely placed fatal shots from the sniper rifle. It rolled lifelessly back into the bush.

"ETA on the Hercules is ten minutes. I don't need to point out he will not land in the middle of a war zone". M calmly spoke as he scanned several monitors

"Understood". The over the radio was calm.

"They're at the airport now". Tanner pointed at the large screen on the wall. The truck and Mercedes were parked between the departure building and the runway.

"Gentlemen you have more incoming company. A large force has just left Gbadolite".

Captain France, Corporal Broadhead and Bond congregated around the Mercedes, all intently looking at Bonds tablet. The view was a map of the area.

"I suggest I borrow this". Bond tapped the roof of the car "And take it for a spin to delay our friends as long as possible".

"Broadhead will back you up. Don't be late. We won't wait". Captain France warned.

Bond floored the accelerator and the Mercedes surged down the avenue away from the terminal building. He was closely followed by Corporal Broadhead on one of the electric bikes. They were heading towards the rapidly advancing convoy of trucks. London was in constant contact via Bonds ear piece feeding him with updates on their relative positions. Dawn was breaking and the low sun cast an orange hue across the sky line.

The Mercedes made great purchase on the dust covered tarmac and was soon close to the convoy. After about a mile Bond swerved the limousine across the road, slammed on the brakes and brought it a stop diagonally across the carriageway. He stepped out of the car and briskly walked around to the far side of the vehicle. He opened the passenger door and scooped up a C8 carbine from the seat. After slinging the nylon strap across his shoulders, he lent forward and used his free hands to place the convex shaped box of a claymore mine between the driver's seat and door. A simple switch primed and armed the explosive. Corporal Broadhead silently approach on his electric bike, bringing it to a controlled stop near the rear of the car. Bond had the boot open and extracted a mini mi from the interior. He passed it to Broadhead who rested it on the bikes frame.

"Set up on that bend there". Bond pointed down the road they had just driven.

"There'll be a little bit of commotion and then I'll join you for the transfer to the airport". He smiled.

Broadhead spun the bike and shot off back down the road. The temperature was beginning to rise, and Bond was coated in a greasy layer of sweat as he set another claymore mine in the drainage ditches on the far side of the car. The weight of his equipment and the rapidity of his exertion caused him to breathe heavily. The sound of the convoy of old diesel engine trucks was growing close. Bond retreated to a large raised clump of vegetation at the side of the road and settled down behind it. The first truck came into view and shuddered to a halt as the driver identified the obstacle blocking the road. Voices could be heard. Instructions being yelled and several soldiers jumped from the back of the truck. Ten soldiers in total spread across the road and tentatively approached the stricken Mercedes. They fanned out and a couple took up covering positions in the drainage ditches. One soldier from the centre of the line appeared to take the lead and approached the car. It would be a simple task to release the brake and push the obstruction out of the way.

Bond released the safety on the C8 and pushed the stock tightly against his shoulder, pulled his arms close to his body and aimed through the optical sight.

The lead soldier peered through the drivers' window and then examined the rear of the car. Everything appeared to be in order. His fingers closed around the rear passenger door handle.

"Damn" thought Bond. The claymore could easily be discovered, and the trap revealed. An instruction was shouted from the truck cabin urging the man to make haste. The rebel glanced back at the truck, shrugged his shoulders and opened the driver's door. The claymore exploded peppering the soldier with a storm of lethal ball bearings, throwing his shredded body backwards across the road. The rest of the rebels recoiled in shock and scattered into the drainage ditches as the Mercedes exploded and burst into a ball of fuel fed flames. Two rebel soldiers advanced down the drainage ditch on the far side of the burning vehicle and immediately triggered the second claymore hidden under a pile of stripped grass. Bond fired a carefully aimed burst, neutralising another rebel on the near side of the vehicle. He then pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade and lobbed it into the middle of the remaining huddle of soldiers. As he stood and began to advance forward, he heard Corporal Broadheads sniper rifle erupt and saw the windscreen of the lead truck implode. The grenade had neutralised most of the soldiers and a couple more bursts from his C8 finished the job. Broadheads sniper rifle again roared and the passenger side of the truck windscreen shattered. This time the bullet lodged harmlessly in the roof of the cabin. The lucky soldier, blissfully unaware that the smoke from the burning car had saved his life, raised his AK47 towards the advancing man.

Bond identified the threat and squeezed the C8's trigger only to be greeted with the dead man's click. The weapon had jammed. In one fluid movement he discarded the carbine, letting it hang by a lanyard uselessly at his side. His right hand swung inwards to the holster at his waist and the Sig P226 held within. The Kalashnikovs barrel all too quickly levelled in his direction. Bond knelt making his mass smaller as he pushed the handgun forward. The AK47 burst into life. Bullets sprayed randomly above Bonds head. Bond grasped the Sig with both hands, levelled and squeezed. Two accurately aimed rounds struck his opponent. One ploughed a bloody furrow across the soldier's cheek, the other smashed into his right shoulder. Bond, realising his aim had not been fatal, jumped up and sprinted forward; rapidly emptying the contents of the Sig's magazine into the wounded soldier. The soldiers' body slipped out of the Trucks cabin and landed in an unresponsive heap on the road. It was then that Bond realised the soldier wasn't a man, but a boy; no older than thirteen. One of the regions notorious child soldiers kidnapped from local villages and forced to fight for the rebel militia. A feeling of despair surged through Bonds body. He'd taken many lives, but never a child. Only his training kept him focussed and functioning. The despair disappeared as quickly as it had come. This place was truly hell.

Frantic movement could now be heard behind the first truck. Bullets flew wildly in the air. Bond's instincts for self-preservation took over; like an emotionless automaton he fought on. He unfastened a bandolier of grenades from his waist, pulled the pin on one and threw it under the rear of the truck in the direction of the fuel tank. He stood, spun on his heels, snatched an AK47 from the side of a dead soldier and sprinted past the burning Mercedes.

It was the longest sprint in Bond's life. With each breath he took in a blowtorch of air that burned the soft tissue of his throat and nostrils. The truck exploded. He was slammed to the ground as the shock wave hit. The heat of the fireball singed the back of his head. It was only seconds before more erratic shots from behind the burning vehicles started. Each one was steadily gaining in accuracy and several split the air near his prone body. Bond's ears rang and his nostrils bled. He attempted to stand, but his mind swam in a sea of static. All his senses were fizzing. He slumped back to the ground. Two motor bikes burst through the smoke; their riders' intent on death. They bore down on Bond. The mini mi buzzed. Its bullets slashed through the air ripping the riders from their seats. Their bikes careering off the road and somersaulting into the drainage ditch. Bond used all his might to stand and stumble forward. He momentarily stopped, crouched and returned a blind burst of fire. He did this until the Kalashnikov's curved magazine was empty. He dropped the weapon and as he neared the bend in the road the Mini mi burst into life again ripping into the soldiers who were emerging from behind the burning wreckage.

Bond climbed aboard the electric bike and shouted at Broadhead, who was laying down a layer of suppressive fire.

"Corporal it's time to go" He pressed the transmit button on his throat microphone. "If the bird has any more fire in its belly, we could do with it now. We are danger close. Repeat danger close". The instruction had gone back to London to release any available ordinance from the drone onto their current location.

"Lieutenant, you have clearance to deploy your remaining ordinance. Be aware friendlies are danger close. Repeat danger close. Acknowledge". Tanner spoke to the pilot of the drone over the secure network.

"Confirm. Danger close". The pilot confirmed he could see the two SAS soldiers and the advancing horde of rebels. The cross hairs on the screen in front of Tanner flicked around as the pilot adjusted them on his targeting screen; they moved towards the burning vehicles. That should give our boys additional valuable seconds thought Tanner. He was aware the smart bombs that were about to be deployed had a circular error probable (CEP) of only 1.1 metres variation from their intended point of impact. They were very accurate he reassuringly reminded himself. The pilot then skilfully positioned the aircraft into an attack vector; repeating his pre-launch checks. Tanner knew it would just take a flick of a switch to cause two long slim doors in the drones' belly to slowly open and reveal the lethal contents held within. Two large GBU – 12 Pathway II laser guided bombs.

"Weapons all spun up good. Testing the laser; Laser is on. Laser is good".

"Lieutenant, you have clearance to prosecute the targets".

"Target is marked and captured. Ready. Engaging targets. Three, two, one: Rifle, rifle, rifle. Weapons are away. Time of flight is forty seconds" .The two five hundred-pound bombs dropped from their cradles and began their journey downwards towards their target. Nose mounted laser seekers locked onto the laser designation that illuminated the target from the nose of the drone. Fins at the rear of the bombs adjusted their flight path as they fell. On board cameras recorded their decent.

Corporal Broadhead fired a final burst into the advancing rebel soldiers and then stood with the mini mi cradled in his arms, turned and started to move towards the waiting bike. As he shuffled towards his airport transfer, he had a large smile on his face. This is what he'd trained for. This would make the basis of a glorious adventure story for him to tell his young son. The bullets hit his lower legs with immense force, shredding his calf muscles and shattering his bones. Bond looked on as the smile on Broadheads face morphed into a grimace of pain as he collapsed to the ground.

Thirty seconds to impact.

Bond instinctively dropped the bike to the ground and ran towards the stricken soldier. He lobbed a smoke grenade down the road to give them a slight veil of cover and tried dragging Broadhead, but it quickly became apparent that time was running out. Bullets ripped the tarmac around them. The rebel soldiers advanced blindly but with growing confidence. Bond returned fire with his Sig Sauer, hoping to dint that confidence and slow their progress.

"Leave me. We've run out of time". Broadhead breathed heavily through his pain. Bond looked down and simply nodded.

"Promise me one thing. Will you give this back to my son"? He fumbled in the top left-hand pocket of his jacket and produced a green plastic soldier. "And tell him and the wife I love them".

"You know you can't be identified". Bond clasped Brodhead's hand with both of his, squeezed them and then took hold of the toy soldier. He placed it in his left breast pocket.

"Don't worry I'll take some of the bastards with me". Broadhead pulled the pin on a phosphorus grenade and held the lever tightly with his right hand whilst holding his Sig Sauer against his temple with his left.

Ten seconds to impact.

Bond jumped back on the bike, twisted the throttle; it surged silently forward. He didn't look back as the rebel soldiers broke through the cloud of smoke. They would be immediately upon Broadhead assault rifles and machetes in hand. He heard the distinctive sound of a 9mm pistol being fired, a single shot, shortly followed by the explosion and whoosh of the incendiary grenade detonating and engulfing those attackers. Seconds later the whole area behind him erupted into an inferno with the combined force of two Paveway bombs simultaneously striking the ground. Bond felt the ground shake violently; the intense heat caressed and singed the soft hairs on the back of his neck as flames and debris reached twenty metres into the air. The shock wave momentarily disturbed the bike, threatening to throw him to the ground, but he held on, corrected and accelerated away.

The atmosphere was a sticky mix of tension and sweat in the command centre as all watched the events unfold on the large screens.

"This is turning into a bloody nightmare". M whispered to Tanner.

Tanner held his right hand to the ear piece in his right ear.

"The Hercules is on the ground….Mr Adoula is on board…our forces are withdrawing from their positions and will be on board in two minutes".

"How far is our man out". The PM stared at the image of the speeding bike. They didn't know who the rider was. The image zoomed out revealing the rebel forces again moving freely on the road in pursuit.

"Five minutes at least". M spoke, a heavy sense of defeat clung to each word.

The PM looked down at the desk in front of her. Her shoulders sagged as she paused for a second, then she stood tall.

"Instruct the plane to take off". The PM coldly ordered.

Bond had managed to keep a comfortable distance between him and the rapidly gaining convoy of trucks. He had reached the perimeter of the airport when he saw the Hercules C4, a stretched version of the C-130J work horse; start to move into position for take-off. Was he too late? A twist of the throttle accelerated the bike silently forward towards the terminal building. Bond rapidly moved down the avenue and burst through the open entrance of the terminal, through its interior and out the other side. He passed the abandoned Bedford lorry Corporal Broadhead had driven and sped on towards the southern end of the runway in pursuit of the Hercules.

Captain France was less than comfortable with the instruction to leave men behind, but it had come directly from the Prime Minister and he had no influence over the pilot of the Hercules, who had locked himself and his co-pilot in the aircraft's cockpit. He was making his way around his men after ensuring Mr Adoula was in a stable condition. He wanted to make sure everyone was as comfortable as they could be in the Hercules's Spartan interior for the long flight home. The rear cargo door had not fully closed when France took the opportunity to cast an eye over the airport for one last time. He caught a glimpse, but didn't really believe what he had seen; could it really be?

Belief overcame doubt and he called over the airman that was in charge of the cargo hold.

"Stop the take-off. One of my men is out there". France grabbed the airman by his shoulders. The man, a young senior aircraftman, spoke nervously into his headset.

"Sorry sir. We have explicit orders to take off now; without delay". The aircraftman nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, which irritated France.

"In that case; I don't have time to discuss the niceties with the pilot. Can we still take off with this door?" He pointed to the rear cargo door. "Open".

"It's possible; I think". The aircraftman didn't appear very confident.

"Then I suggest you do just that, before this lot decide to leave you behind". Both men turned to look at the hold full of soldiers, who were becoming aware of something not being quite right. The aircraftman fearing for his own health snatched at the remote control for the doors and pressed hard on the open button. Almost as in defiance the noise of the engines increased, and the Hercules surged forward on its take-off run.

As the door descended France could see the electric bike in hot pursuit. The rider had discarded his helmet revealing a full head of dark hair, it was Bond. The cargo door began to touch the runway throwing sparks in the air as the aircraft sped forward. France had been joined by the rest of his men at the rear of the aircraft. All were willing the rider of the bike on "Come on you can make it". The Hercules was almost halfway along the runway.

"Prime Minister, Sir. Look at the monitor". Tanner drew the Prime Ministers and M's attention to the large screen in front of them.

"It looks like one of our men has a chance. Instruct the plane to slow and make another attempt at take-off if needs be". M ordered.

"What are those?" The Prime Minister pointed towards the monitor singling out several vehicles that had turned towards the airport and began to move down the avenue. She already knew the answer.

"They're the rebels' ma'am". Tanner had already guessed what was coming next.

"We cannot risk another attempt at take-off. Cancel that order". The Prime Minister frostily instructed. As if to qualify her decision the speakers in the room burst in to life with heavy static

"007…. enemy in …. pursuit…. take off…. If fail ….an B…send a ferry". M smiled; plan B ex-filtration via the river. M glanced at Tanner and the look he received immediately decimated his relief.

"He'll not make it. Those bikes don't have the range and the whole area will be swarming with rebel forces within the hour; if he doesn't get on the plane. He's done for". All that could be done now was hope.

Bond couldn't twist the throttle any further. He glanced down at the digital instrument panel and noticed the charge indicator was perilously close to empty. He was gaining on the big plane and the rear door had been lowered. There was hope; small, immeasurable, but still hope.

An explosion erupted to his left, probably an opportunistic RPG round fired towards the Hercules. Bond hugged the frame of the bike, making his outline as small and as aerodynamic as possible. He could almost hear the cheering soldiers as he moved closer to the open door. He could feel their welcoming arms and taste the celebratory bottle of beer. It was something that wouldn't have been there if the airport had been more frequently used. Something that would have been potentially dangerous for a less robust commercial airliner than the bulky military transporter, but something that was catastrophic to the bike and for Bond's escape. A piece of forged steel lay in his path. It was slightly curved, half a metre long and only a few centimetres thick and had probably fallen off a poorly serviced plane days or even weeks before. The front wheel of the bike hit the debris and was thrown violently to the left. Bond clung on using all his skill and strength to remain upright, but the disturbance had cost him dearly. He had been knocked off course and had to slow the bike to remain in control. He slid to a stop next to the stripped-down rusting remains of the Hind attack helicopter. He glanced in the direction of the Hercules and forlornly watched it lift into the air, defiantly popping anti-missile flairs and chaff as it gained altitude; the rear cargo door slowly closing. Bond cursed and took in his surroundings. The mission had been accomplished, now it was time for the difficult part.

"Damn". M smashed his fist hard on the desk in front of him as watched the events unfold.

"He knew the risks". The Prime Minister bluntly observed. M shot a cold glare at the politician and then looked away.

"Options". He angrily called out to everyone in the room; not willing to give up and admit defeat. The room remained silent.

M looked around searching for inspiration. His eyes settled upon a small model of the drone which was currently loitering above the airport.

"The drone is a mark Five isn't it". He asked Tanner.

"Yes".

Bond crouched behind what used to be the cockpit of the Hind, he checked his Sig Sauer. He only had one more magazine. He'd make every shot count, but the end wouldn't be far away. The words of a song swam through his mind "Regrets I've had a few, but then again too few to mention". His ear piece crackled.

"Stick to plan..." He didn't hear the entire message, but this was madness thought Bond. They would never send the plane back for him. Not with an army of rebels pouring into the airfield. Before he could protest, the instruction was repeated "Stick to plan ...th". Bond didn't question the instruction further.

A dust cloud could be seen in the distance as the first of the trucks started to move towards the runway. The trucks had moved around the terminal building in a pincer movement and had pulled up outside. Rebel troops had disembarked and had searched the interior of the terminal and control tower. One of the trucks had now been despatched to search the runway. It was at that moment that Bond heard the engines of the drone as it swooped around the airport, banking sharply towards the end of the runway.

"You must be joking". He had images of Slim Pickings riding the atomic bomb at the end of the film "Dr Strangelove". Surely, they weren't expecting him to straddle the drone rodeo style.

The sun was low, and its glare masked the approach of the drone. It wasn't until it was nearly on the ground that the first soldier noticed its approach. Men gesticulated wildly pointing in its direction. Orders were screamed in French and several men clambered back into the trucks. Bond fired a couple of optimistic rounds from his hand gun in the direction of the approaching truck. The distance was at the weapons limit, so he didn't hold much hope of causing any damage. One bullet though, devoid of most of its energy, cracked the windscreen of the truck, giving the occupants food for thought, causing them to hesitate and delay their advance by a few vital seconds.

The drone swooped down, passed over Bond and gently landed. It taxied slowly, turned and faced back up the runway. Bond stared in astonishment. The drone stood half way down the 3,200m concrete strip. Steam wafted off the red-clay earth either side of the runway.

"It's at the bloody wrong end". He swore in frustration.

"You better ...move ... then". The disjointed blunt order came from Tanner.

Bond twisted the throttle and the bike pounced forward. He lobbed his last grenade in the direction of the rebels; it served only as a distraction. The bike weaved violently as bullets began to sear the air around him. Several 30mm grenades harmlessly exploded out of range. A smile began to form on his face, as he realised, he was almost there. Bond twisted the throttle to wring the last ounce of power out of the bike and expedite his departure. The motor seized, locked the rear wheel and threw him violently clear. He smashed hard against the concrete runway, bouncing several times before stopping face down. After lying still for several seconds, winded, he looked up and saw the duck egg blue underside of the drone tantalisingly close. Every muscle in his body screamed with pain as he forced himself to his feet and half jogged, half limped towards his ride home. Bullets were hitting the runway all around him and he could hear the diesel engines of the trucks growing nearer. He needed another distraction.

Bond looked around, dropped to one knee and aim towards the old Bedford truck that the squad had used. He fired four rounds at the large barrel like fuel tank slung underneath the right side of the truck. As the fourth bullet struck the tank the vehicle erupted into a ball of flames. Thick acrid smoke spread between the runway and the terminal building.

Bond approached the drone; he began to wonder how he would straddle this mechanical beast. He was about to clamber on to one of the wings when the payload bay doors dropped opened.

"Get in the bomb bay". The clear familiar voice of Tanner came through Bond's ear piece "It'll be cosy, but you should just about fit".

Bond was aware of the sound of approaching trucks. He emptied the Sig Sauer's magazine in their direction and then slide under the drone and lifted himself into its innards. He jammed his feet against the lip of the sub frame and his hands clung tightly to what had once held the Pathway bombs. The doors raised and momentarily struggled to close against the mass of his body. Bond adjusted himself in the cramped compartment, tensing all his muscles; hydraulic pistons pushed the doors closed with a reassuring clunk. The drone moved forward and accelerated as full throttle was applied several thousand miles away in RAF Waddington.

Smoke from the burning Bedford lorry had begun to drift across the runway and as the rebel trucks reached the cracked concrete the drone burst through the thick choking smoke almost clipping the roof of the lead truck. The smoke swirled in a vortex around the tips of its wings. Shots were fired towards the escaping drone, but none hit their target as it had intentionally been flown into the blinding sun.

"I bet you wished you'd passed on drinking that last bottle of champagne now". Tanner teased about the confined space.

"One never regrets drinking Bollinger RD. In fact, could you be a complete gentleman and pop down to Berry bros and Rudd and order me a case of the 2002 vintage. I'm in need of a drink".

**007**

_**Cherry**_

"Excellent work in the DRC 007; things looked a bit dicey at times, but the results speak for themselves. You've no doubt seen the news. Patrice Kitengi Adoula has been inaugurated as the new President of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The whole ceremony was carried out during his convalescence in hospital. The fact he is there at all is largely down to your efforts. The foreign office did their bit by applying some pressure to neighbouring Rwandan to ensure the inauguration went smoothly". M sat in a high-backed leather chair in his office in Whitehall. He lent forward and rested his arms on the oak desk in front of him. "It was also, a wise move not to mention the downed helicopter. I doubt the PM could have taken any more excitement. Naturally the Chinese are keeping quiet".

"I've seen the headlines. He promises to bring unity and peace to the region and free up the supplies of precious metals and gems: A brave new world".

"Yes. A world in which our PM wants the UK to play a full part in; there will be plenty of opportunities for our businesses, exports, contracts and the like. It's seen as vital post Brexit, but we're playing catch up with China. They've virtually colonized the continent by stealth. They've pumped a fortune into the region, but there is a growing feeling that they have grown tired of the DRC, which leaves a potential vacuum to be filled".

"How does he intend to bring peace and unity to a country that has resisted all other attempts over the past few decades?" Bond was sceptical.

"Money, 007. He's managed to buy the rebel leaders' allegiance. The region is one of the richest in the world, but much of this wealth is buried in the ground. The DRC are the fifth leading producer of tungsten and sixth of tin. They hold five percent of the world's copper and fifty percent of cobalt. Moreover, they possess an estimated eighty percent of all known coltan. He has mortgaged the country's mineral wealth, offering the rebel leaders' extreme wealth, in return for stability. The demise of the M23 rebel militia leader General Ntagander, during the rescue, also guided the rest in making the right decision. The fragile government hopes their buried wealth will now set the groundwork for successful economic development and has begun courting other countries for investment. The PM wants to be part of the country's regeneration, at any cost".

"There's already been a high cost to the PM's international diplomacy. His name was Broadhead". Bond's emotions were uncharacteristically raw.

"James". M paused. His cold, dispassionate façade dissolved. "You have to be emotionally detached in this business. You've been around long enough to know that".

"It's been a long two weeks sir. Debriefs, red tape and I still need to keep a promise I made".

"I'm afraid any unrelated personal business will have to wait 007. We have important work to do and a timetable to stick too". M lent to his right and opened the top draw of his desk. He picked a small round object and tossed it towards Bond. Bond caught the coin in his right hand. He examined it, twirling it around with his fingers. The coin was bi-metal and had been minted by the bank of Kazakhstan in 2009. The image embossed denoted the joining of the Soyuz and Apollo space craft.

"That is a gift from an old friend from way back in the good old days; a time when you knew who your enemies were and more importantly who your friends were". Sometimes M missed the simplicity of the cold war. "It's a coin made from two metals. The ring is Silver, and the centre is Tantalum. Now tell me what you know about Tantalum?" He crouched over his desk, his finger sliding across the screen of a newly issued tablet eager to hear Bonds reply.

"Not a great deal sir. Other than being a refractory metal, atomic number 73, which puts it between hafnium, niobium, and tungsten in the transition metal section of the periodic table. Discovered in the 19th century and named after the Greek god Tantalus, a Mythological figure who found himself doomed to spend eternity being tortured after death, by standing in knee deep water, with delicious fruit hanging overhead, just out of reach. The name refers to tantalum's own ability to be submerged in substances without being corroded. It's only susceptible to corrosion by hydrofluoric acid. Found in the ore tantalite and used in capacitors of most modern smart phones and tablets because of its high capacitance and low volume ". Bond pointed towards M's new toy. The glossy black tablet seemed strangely at odds to the traditional environment of the oak clad Whitehall office. "And occasionally in coins". He flicked the coin back to M, who caught it and placed it back in the draw.

"Elements such as Tantalum are becoming something of a hot topic in high places".

"I suppose there's a great interest in where it's mined and who owns those mines". Bond interjected. "Although I thought the vast majority was mined in Australia. An ally, the last time I looked".

"Your knowledge is a little behind the times 007" M couldn't hide a pleased smile as he pushed the tablet across his desk towards Bond. Bond picked up the tablet and cradled it on his left palm. The newspaper article on the screen read "_Investment Bank BILLECART AND LOXLEY CORPORATE SECURITIES AND FINANCE Buys major holding in Australian mining company even though production has dropped from 45% of the world's supply to just 4%_". He didn't read the entire article that would come later. He glanced at M.

"Swipe your finger across the screen as though turning a page and read the next couple of articles". M instructed. Bond ignored the slightly condescending tone.

The digitized news articles referred to a massive new find of Coltan being discovered in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Coltan essentially a mix of tantalite and Columbite and a source of Tantalum; this was a major boost for the newly inaugurated President.

"Increased demand for technology like this tablet has boosted the need for metals such as tantalum. The PM is keen to exploit the potential peace in the DRC and will commit financial and military aid to ensure we are a major player in what will become a very rich country". M explained.

"Why would an investment bank buy into a failing Australian mine, especially at a time when the DRC is set to increase its own supply of Coltan?"

"There's a train of thought that the kidnapping of Patrice Adoula and this investment are more than just a coincidence. Leaving the DRC in a state of civil war and restricting their supply of Tantalum would have increased the value of the Australian mines. The intelligence you brought back indicates the rebels received a considerable amount of outside investment. It was initially thought that Rwanda was implicated as their supply of Tantalum is heavily supported by illicitly mined ore from the DRC, but after the States applied pressure, we now consider that it is more likely that a private enterprise is involved. It's just a thought, but one that needs investigating. The Prime Minister has taken a personal interest in President Adoula. She believes he offers the only viable opportunity to end the world's worst conflict since the Second World War. The PM considers this is as important as the Arab Israeli peace initiatives and believes the UK should be at the forefront.She doesn't want instability in an already fragile country to destroy this chance".

"Interesting; sounds like this could be a repeat of the Cobalt supply back in the Sixties from the Katanga province; mercenaries, assassinations and all that".

"Funny you should mention cobalt, with the increase in battery technology and their importance to the next generation of vehicles; cobalt is becoming hot again. Where do you think sixty eight percent of the World's supply comes from 007?"

"The Congo?" Bond made an educated guess.

"Full marks. Well the DRC actually, we don't want to get confused with the Republic of the Congo, which is a separate country, but it just goes to show you how important the DRC is to the Worlds development and why the PM wants a piece of the pie".

"I'm struggling to see our connection though. With the bank being domestic surely this is Fives territory". Bond was sceptical.

"I had dinner with the Governor of the Bank of England, and he asked me to investigate the dealings of Billecart and Loxley. He believes the whole deal to be more than a coincidence, but there are certain sensitivities around our relationship with Adoula. He didn't want this becoming official until there's definite proof of wrong doing. The PM is determined that post Brexit the UK will be at the forefront of the DRC's regeneration". M raised an eyebrow. He didn't share the politician's optimism.

"What's the double O angle?"

"Besides the implications of not securing a stable supply of rare earth metals, given the other main player in the country is China and our obligation to protect President Adoula". M failed to hide his irritation "The young lady who is investigating the case for the NFIB 1 has requested our assistance. Her investigation has turned international and you are to accompany her to the Future Metals Convention in Nice. This is a personal request, not an official mission, so your assistance would be appreciated 007".

"Nice. I've always had an immense affection for the Cotes de Azur. Is the girl pretty?"

"The young lady in question is the daughter of a very good personal friend of mine". M stood and glanced out of the window, before turning to Bond "You'll meet her shortly". He glanced at his watch "She's late". He said with a slight hint of irritation in his voice "Her name is Cherry Florado".

"You've got to be joking. Sounds like a desert sir". Bond couldn't contain his amusement. M's emotionless face stared at him. A red light flashed on his desk.

"Yes, Moneypenny". M spoke to the voice recognition intercom.

"Miss Florado has arrived. Shall I send her straight in?"

"Please do".

The leather padded reinforced door opened and Bond cast his eye over a woman who was in her mid-twenties. She was naturally attractive, slim, wore a brown leather jacket over a tight cream dress and vivid cherry red hair could partially be seen spilling from under a cream beret. She confidently entered the room and walked directly to Bond. She carried a black leather folder in her left hand and her right hand was outstretched in a greeting.

"Cherry. This is Mr. Bond. He is going to assist you in your investigation" M's stern face morphed into a smile.

"Pleased to meet you Mr.…" A smile spread across the pretty girl's face.

"Call me James". Bond interrupted and accepted the offered hand and gently squeezed it.

"A real life 00 agent; I'm so excited to meet you." Cherry returned the squeeze, blushing slightly.

"Let's focus on the mission and not dwell on the numbers, shall we."

"I agree. 00…Mr. Bond will assist you any way he can, but time is of the essence". M interjected. "Explain to Mr. Bond what you have discovered so far".

"Do you know anything about Tantalum James?" Cherry enquired.

"He's heard of it". M abruptly interrupted. Bond nodded in agreement.

"Well Tantalum is a rare earth metal with chemical properties of extreme durability, tensile strength and corrosion resistance, and its high melting temperature and is also very reliable; this makes the metal an ideal material for electronic capacitors. Tantalum-based capacitors have significant advantages over other materials in terms of their response times, light weight and unique ability to store and release an electrical charge - essential for the power-storing processes of tablets, laptops and smart phones". Cherry explained.

"More importantly they are used in the new generation of computer driven military hardware". M sat back in his leather chair. "With the World's economy and military becoming more reliant on equipment like this". He waved the tablet in the air. "You'll even find it in one of those expensive watches you like to wear". He pointed towards the Omega adorning Bonds left wrist. "The PM's keenness for the UK to be closely linked with President Adoula and the regeneration of the DRC and its mineral supplies means we have carte blanche to ensure that no obstacles get in the way. That includes nefarious activity by a mysterious investment bank". M explained.

"This could just be harmless speculation in the markets; speculation that went horribly wrong for them?" Bond couldn't help but feel this was going to be a waste of his time.

"I initially thought the same, but the concerted attempt to dominate the supply of Tantalum is of concern. What if the company has foreign backing for example? There's also an unusual amount of security at their head office, armed guards and high-tech surveillance. It's been almost impossible to gain any information".

"I thought there were strict rules in dealing with material sourced from areas of conflict?" Bond was becoming interested. He studied Cherry as she began to explain. She had a gentle, slightly reticent presence and was effortlessly pretty with deep brown eyes and an engaging smile.

"There is, but significant quantities are obtained from alluvial and soft rock deposits by artisanal mining, primarily in central Africa, artisanal being the posh word for primitive and dangerous. Individual mines are small and rely on manual tools and labour with little or no records being kept. Most of the illegally mined coltan is sold and smelted in China; they're less fussy about how the material is sourced. It then finds its way onto the international market. To make things worse the ore is not traded on commodities exchanges but instead bought and sold through shadowy networks of dealers, so its origins are easily disguised".

"A full-frontal assault on the head office is out of the question?" Bond sought approval from M. He received a stern shake of the head.

"As with most high-level businesses, they have friends in high places".

"I have though discovered that the front man to the company, a Dr Jeremy Billecart, carries detailed information in his laptop whenever he travels". Cherry slipped two high definition photographs out of the leather folder and placed them on the desk in front of Bond. He handled the photographs. The first was a close up of a rather sweaty plump man's head and shoulders. The second was an image of the non-descript laptop.

"I take it, this man". He held up the photograph "Will be visiting the South of France and retrieving the information hidden in his laptop is where I come in".

"Put crudely, yes. Once he's out of the country he's fair game. You are to assist Cherry in obtaining any intelligence; remember this is not an official operation. This has not been sanctioned by our government; it is purely an information gathering exercise, do bear that in mind James your primary role is to ensure no harm comes to Miss Florado". M laboured the latter point.

"Right we'll get straight on the case then". Bond pushed himself up from his chair.

"One more thing; before you leave you must hand your Walther in at the armoury and select a replacement. 009 had a stoppage on his last mission, so they're being withdrawn until a full investigation has been completed. No funny business. This is compulsory".

Bond nodded and closed the reinforced ox blood leather clad oak door behind him. He turned to Cherry.

"As you've just heard I need to take care of some business. Just a thought, are you armed?"

"Yes. I use a Beretta Pico. It's small, slim design is perfect for a clutch bag or a thigh holster". Cherry's hand brushed her thigh. Bond couldn't help but look her up and down. His eyes loitered over her thighs.

"Do you like what you see James?" A slight flush spread across Bonds cheeks. He coughed and almost absent minded spoke out aloud.

"Dangerous weapons indeed".

"I thought we were talking about my choice of personal weapon".

"Yes. The Pico's little more than a toy! Are you sure it can stop a man?"

"It uses a 38 ACP round, which is sufficient for most situations. Although I generally find it largely depends on where you shoot a man!" Cherry had a mischievous glint in her deep brown eyes. She angled her head away and turned a slight shade of scarlet. "I'll meet you at Gatwick in a couple of days".

**008**

**Preparations**

Bond placed the Beretta on the table in front of him and removed his ear protectors. He was stood at a shooting booth deep in the basement of MI6 headquarters. The firing range was constructed from sound proofed reinforced concrete and consisted of a dozen firing lanes each with a target and a bullet trap down range. Every conceivable modern firearm was displayed along the back wall of the basement. The weapons ranged from a variety of sniper rifles, shotguns, assault rifles, sub-machine guns to a comprehensive selection of pistols and revolvers. Access to all these weapons was the responsibility of the RCO, Range Conducting Officer who was sat in the Control room. The room was built from concrete blocks with bullet proof observation windows and contained central controls for the firing range equipment, communication, lights, and security. The control station provided the RCO with an unobstructed line of sight of the firing lanes and all shooters. The shooting booth where Bond stood was constructed of panels which had been acoustically treated to reduce the effect of weapons discharge on other shooters. The booths were equipped with shelves that held selected weapons and bullets, communication system and target-operation equipment. The firing line was marked red and ran along the downrange edge of the shooting booth. The paper target was suspended on a target carrier system that allowed the shooter to retrieve his target from down range safely for scrutiny.

"Are you happy with your choice 007?" The procedural voice of the RCO crackled over the radio.

"Yes. Thank you, Charlie".

Bond assessed the four pistols in front of him; a Colt Mustang XSP, a Glock 42, a Ruger LC9 and the Beretta Nano. Each had been fired. He had emptied a full magazine from each weapon into a separate card target. The targets were suspended twelve meters down the firing range; each weapon had performed as expected. All were accurate with most rounds hitting the centre mass in tight groupings with a final double tap to the forehead area. Bond selected each pistol in turn, holding it, feeling the weight; aiming down the range and becoming familiar with the balance. He stripped and re-assembled each pistol until he was satisfied of his choice. All were fine weapons, but only one came close to his beloved Walther. Each possessed positives and negatives; the Colt was the most compact, whilst the Ruger had the highest capacity at eight 9mm shells compared to the seven held by the rest. All were 9mm calibre or the American equivalent 0.38. The one, which felt immediately at home in his hand, was the Beretta. He picked the compact pistol up and attached a cigar shaped silencer, ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fully loaded one. A fresh target was put in place with the press of a button. Bond pulled back the slide, chambering a round and then held the Beretta in a two-handed grip at arm's length. Took aim and emptied the magazine with seven whispering shots, all on target.

"You seem to have an affinity for all things Italian these days 007, Persol sunglasses, Brioni tuxedos; now your choice in a side arm. You'll be driving a Ferrari next". The quartermaster, affectionately known as "Q" smiled, pleased with his observation.

Bond gave him a disdainful look." You shouldn't creep up on a man who has a loaded gun Q. It's dangerous". He accentuated the last word.

"Actually, it's empty". Q pointed at the spent pistol and then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. "If you're going to take the Beretta, I suggest you use the heavier cartridge. It works more efficiently than the regular one; less chance of a stoppage. Early owners of the Nano voiced concerns about an intermittent failure to eject while using lower quality ammunition with the 115-grain bullet. The Nano is rated for 9mm+P ammunition, and as such requires ammunition heavier than that to function as designed. It's commonly agreed that the pistol functions best on ammunition with bullets of 124 grains or heavier. I also suggest you carry a backup. This is a little beauty". Q passed Bond a Smith and Wesson M & P Bodyguard 38 revolver. Bond snatched the revolver from Q's hand, flipped open the cylinder noting it was loaded with five 9mm shells, snapped the cylinder closed with a flick of the wrist and fired all five in rapid succession from the hip. Five bullets punctured the target in the silhouetted groin area.

"Ahhh. You could have warned me you were going to do that". Q stood in front of Bond, his fingers inserted in his ears.

"You're in a firing range. What did you expect? Nice revolver. I'll give it a field trial. I'll also take the Beretta with three magazines and a box of two hundred rounds of said 124 grain".

"Two hundred! Are you thinking of starting a war?" Q exclaimed as he handed Bond a clipboard with the required paperwork attached.

"One likes to be prepared for every eventuality".

Q was dressed in dark grey skinny fit trousers, a white shirt and what could only be described as a digital camouflage patterned cardigan. "Walk with me. I have something else for you".

"I do hope it isn't something sartorial, Q".

"I think you're way beyond any sartorial guidance I can offer 007". Q again playfully pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his index finger as he scanned Bonds Navy blue pin stripe suit and white shirt. Saville row no doubt. "I do though have a replacement watch for you, an Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean". He produced it out of a pocket in his cardigan.

"Just like this one". Bond flashed his left wrist adorned with a near identical timepiece. The only immediately visible difference was that Bonds watch possessed a glossy black bezel, whereas Q's version was a fashionable matt black.

"Indeed. Not quite". Q struggled to hide his frustration, but his enthusiasm for the new watch quickly took over. "This watch has more processing power than most desk top computers. The face is a digital representation of the one you have, but due to some nifty 3D LED optical technology it is almost indistinguishable". Bond cast his eye over the face and had to agree.

"That's quite remarkable".

"It's like your old model in other ways, but with a few useful additions. I call it my Swiss armies watch". He pointed to the stainless-steel bracelet and clasp. "On close inspection you can see the band and clasp are slightly larger". He used his fingernail to prize open one of the straps links.

"A USB connection; Use it to download and store files. We've also added a nice little file that you can upload onto any device you're hacking. It'll break down most know security systems and naturally the strap also contains the full range of connectivity, mini USB …."

"It does tell the time doesn't it?"

"Yes, in every time zone if you desire. Linked with your mobile phone, it makes an incredible piece of equipment. We have also developed this nifty little pen that acts as a flare pistol for those occasions when you need rescuing". Q held a chunky black fountain pen, waving it like a wand.

"I thought Q branch didn't do exploding pens anymore?"

"This is to be used in emergency situations only and is not designed to blow things up 007. It is a miracle of miniaturisation and comes in a full range of styles, stainless steel, gold plated…"

"I think I'll pass on that Q. I deal with enough poison pen letters as it is. Just show me the watch". Bond abruptly interrupted.

"It's your loss 007; as you wish. Now pay attention whilst I explain why I call it my Swiss army watch".

"Dear Moneypenny. We have all the time in the world". Bond settled himself down on the edge of Miss Moneypennys desk whilst he closed the clasp of his recently acquired watch around his left wrist. The fit was loose. The early morning sun illuminated Eve Moneypenny's face as she passed Bond a brown file.

"Precisely five minutes James. The boss wants you to start preparing immediately. Apparently, time is of the essence".

"I know, but as I said we have all the time…." He was cut short by a disapproving look.

"Everything you'll need is in the file; including details of the mission supplied by the young lady, contact details and a transcript of her recent reports. There's also an electronic version being sent to your phone. I doubt you'll have any problem liaising with her. She's a pretty young thing, isn't she?" a knowing smile spread across Moneypennys face and a tinge of jealousy invaded her voice. "Try not to have too much fun in Nice James and do bring me something back from your conference; something round and gold with a diamond on it. It's my birthday soon".

"Technically my dear adorable Moneypenny gold is a precious metal and not part of this mission".

"Gold, Platinum or even paper will do, just don't take your time".

"Moneypenny". Bond said disapprovingly "I once knew a man who was obsessed with gold; I have to say it didn't end well and do remember diamonds should be forever, not just for a birthday".

"Really James, something out of a lucky bag would do. I was referring to you only having three weeks before you and the boss fly to Singapore".

"Singapore?" Bond shuffled uncomfortably on the desk. "With M?"

"There is a security conference being held between all the major players around the world, including the UK, US, China and representatives of the new DRC government. It's also no coincidence that you will be accompanying M. President Adoula has requested your presence. He wants to take the opportunity to personally thank you for saving his life and naturally the PM is keen for you to be there. The PR potential is immeasurable". Bond grimaced at the thought of being used as a pawn in a game of political chess. He preferred being anonymous. "If only someone would take me to an exotic location". Moneypenny wishfully spoke out aloud.

"If I survive this Moneypenny; I'll take you anywhere you'd like. That's a promise".

"Does that include down the aisle James?" Moneypenny playfully nibbled the end of her pen, not letting the issue drop.

"I have a favourite saying: Never say never". Bond smiled, lent across and kissed her on the forehead. He then made a tactical retreat out of the office, taking the file with him.

**009**

**The Dragon stirs**

The main Chinese Military Intelligence headquarters in Beijing

was a concrete Rubik cube sterile kind of building located in the suburb of Xiyuan, situated next to the Summer Palace.

The Ministry of State Security was formed in 1983 with the merger of the entire Central Investigation Department and the counter-intelligence department of the Ministry of Public Security. The Central Investigation Department was known as Xiyuan, or Western Garden, due to its location

Deep within the building was a relatively small claustrophobic office where three Generals, dressed in their type 07 pine green uniforms adorned with multiple decorations, all sat behind a long desk. In front of the desk stood an unusually tall officer also dressed in the military uniform of the Peoples Liberation Army

"Agent Tiějiang you carried out a competent job in Kinshasa. Even though you are of foreign origin, you have served your adopted country well. We now have the last piece of the jigsaw in place". General Wang Xiaohu, who sat between the other two Generals, spoke softly. "Our financial control and dominance of the Indian ocean, Eurasian and African sectors is gaining momentum. General Xi Chen if you would be so kind to give a voice over of our current status". The relatively young General to his right stood and pointed to a map of the world projected on the wall behind.

"The Bangladesh-China-India-Myanmar economic corridor is now open. The lease and development of The Coco Islands from Myanmar is nearing completion. The capability of the airstrip has been extended and we now possess a full intelligence gathering facility covering the Malacca strait.

The financial dominance of the Maldives is progressing to plan. We will start the construction of a new deep-water harbour in the next few weeks; once the Maldivian government has agreed. We do not envisage any obstacles.

The Yichun mine in the Yuanzhou district is at full production.

The Dongfeng-41 missile will shortly be in service and our long-range rapid response force including Navy, air force and Special Forces is operational. The first regiment will be deploying to our overseas support facility in Djibouti, which has been expanded in preparation for our greater security presence on the continent and finally the United States are making our task considerably easier by withdrawing their forces from the African theatre; although we do have concern in the Asia pacific arena". General Xi presented the facts in a monotone voice without emotion. "We have identified one risk". He continued coldly. "The British are becoming a thorn in our sides as they attempt to flex their muscles in their self-belief that they are still relevant". General Xi smirked at the thought. "They would like us to believe they are independent, but we know they act on behalf of the Americans. The West will naturally get jittery once they slowly realise that they have been caught napping". General Wang Xiaohu interrupted.

"As far as the British are concerned, we will deal with their Minister of Defence through diplomatic means, he will not be a problem, but we must ensure they do not know any of our intentions. This is where your skills are useful Agent Tiějiang". Agent Tiějiang stood to attention, silently taking everything in. "You are to develop a plan that will ease our concerns. We cannot afford the time for guanxi; patience and persistence is a luxury we do not have". Guanxi was the cultivation and use of personal networks to influence events which was a particular trait in Chinese intelligence gathering. "We must move with purpose and fluidity. Use our assets in the DRC to assist in these efforts. If needs be you are to immerse yourself in British society. You should become as British as a cup of tea. They have grown close to President Adoula. If you threaten him, they will send their best. Once we have hooked them use the Black Swan device to draw them in".

"Speaking of Operation Black Swan". The short stocky figure of General Zhao Shangzhi interrupted and stood to the left of General Wang Xiaohu;

"Our required dominance in the mining and supply of tantalum and cobalt is well advanced and has not been identified as a concern by the West. The acquisition of controlling stakes in all relevant international mines is almost complete with the $2.65bn deal to secure the copper and cobalt mine in the DRC. We do though have a concern with the artisanal mines, in particular the Tantalum mines in the Kivu region of the DRC. Up to now they have not been a problem, controlled by the American blood mineral act, but the Americans are planning to change their legislation. The troublesome Kivu region needs to be brought to a conclusion. We cannot afford another miss-adventure like the failed rescue". Zhao slammed his fists down on the desk.

"We have successfully adapted the heavy ion accelerator in the Lanzhou cancer hospital in the Gansu province to fire a super-heated beam of the radioactive isotope of tantalum. The manufacture of the device can now be progressed to the next stage. We need to test its effectiveness. To that end Black Swan should be so much more than mere intelligence gathering. It should live up to its name. The device is already at our holding station and can be quickly adapted. I propose we test it on this troublesome region. The rebel factions and their Rwandan masters need to be taught a lesson. The Sword of Southern China must be avenged. We should consider neutralising their supply of wealth and cleanse the region, especially know we have the added concern of Ebola".

**0010**

**Beaulieu-sur-Mer**

The tranquil coastal town of Beaulieu located half way between Nice and Monaco sat to the east of Cap Ferrat. Situated Ten kilometres from Nice and nestled amongst abundant lush vegetation surrounded by palm trees and the hills of the Côte d'Azur, Beaulieu meaning beautiful place was almost frozen in time; and so was La Reserve de Beaulieu: In 1880, Pierre Lottier opened a glamorous seafood restaurant on the Côte d'Azur, calling it La Réserve after the tank that stocked the local fishermen's catch. In 1905, he added ten luxurious guest rooms and a South of France icon was born which quickly became the _adresse incontournable _of the international elite, expanding to be what would become one of the most exclusive hotels on the French Riviera.

The hotel perched on a legendary spot, next to the marina and across the road from the Eglise du sacre-coeur church overlooked the tantalizing curves of the gilt-edged, dazzling blue coastline. The hotel, classic, tasteful and timeless consisted of thirty-seven rooms, thirteen of which were luxury rooms, and seven suites. Each decorated in warm, delicate pastel tones that created a comfortably calm atmosphere. The property, with its pink-and-white façade, exuded style and history from the moment a guest arrived. The peach and cream interior of the lobby was intimate and warm. Valuable tapestries and Italian objets d'art were strategically positioned in cool marble clad areas for a full effect, whilst the forsaken Mediterranean, visible from all parts brooded in the background.

The hotel had provided a limousine to transfer both Cherry and Bond from the airport. The heat of mid-afternoon immediately hit them as they stepped from the air-conditioned limousine and walked down a set of white marble steps that descend to a Versailles-like allée shaded by perfectly symmetrical Mediterranean umbrella pines. The allée led to the hotel, with a wisteria-draped porte-cochere and grand pillared main entrance. Bond took a deep breath and instantly recognised the fragrance of mimosa on the breeze, the delicate golden yellow flower, a member of the acacia family, was prevalent in the region and undoubtedly contributed to the wonder that is the Côte d'Azur.

Nancy and Jean-Claude Marchand, the current owners of the hotel were personal friends of Bond and had made an extra effort to be in the reception as their guests arrived.

"One hopes that La Réserve has maintained its inimitable charm and hospitality". Bond asked as he embraced Nancy. Kissing her on both cheeks and then firmly hugging Jean-Claude.

Bond introduced Cherry as his assistant, both left their baggage with the concierge and entered the Oak panelled Gordon Bennett bar, a jewel box of a room with a grand piano, mirrored tables, little leopard-upholstered Art Deco chairs and French doors opening onto a veranda with the aqua and lapis waters of theGrand Bleu glistening beyond. Bond ordered two Martinis shaken not stirred.

"I'd like a Sex on the beach please". Cherry confidently requested, slightly annoyed at the presumptuous choice.

"Not yet. You can have that later". Bond snapped. "You; young lady are going to be educated in the art of appreciating one of the finest Martinis in the World". He was completely oblivious to what he had just said; even Cherry's giggling didn't enlighten him.

"I'll look forward to later then". Her eyes widened in mischievous anticipation.

Two martinis were delivered by a uniformed waiter to their table; both were served in a classic glass and embellished with a slither of lightly singed curled lemon rind. Bond savoured the intense alcohol as he took a sip

"Christ. It's like rocket fuel". Cherry spluttered "How can you drink that?" She pushed her glass towards Bond, wrinkling her nose in distaste and asked the waiter to bring her initial choice.

"Practice dear girl. Practice".

"You must have chemically removed your taste buds. Now tell me James, how you propose we get the information we've come to get".

"I was thinking of walking in the front door and asking for it".

"Really!"

"Really" He downed the remnants of his martini and then started on Cherry's discarded one.

The waiter delivered Cherry's vodka, peach schnapps, orange and cranberry juice cocktail in a highball glass garnished with a slice of orange and two cherries.

"Sex on the beach madam. Enjoy". He pompously sneered.

"Thank you." Cherry took a sip of the sweet concoction oblivious to the overt snobbery.

"Florado is an unusual surname; Spanish for flower?" Bond was making conversation.

"Esperanto for blossom".

"Of course! Cherry Blossom. One could almost believe that was made up".

"One could, but it's the one I've always had". Cherry didn't elaborate, she looked down at the floor, as if she only half believed what had just been said. She picked up the cherries from the edge of her glass with their stalk, placed one in her mouth and de-stalked it with her lips, gently sucking it into her mouth. She offered Bond the remaining one.

"Do you like cherries James?"

"You want me to take your cherry?" Bond asked as he watched her delicately remove the pip from between her lips and placed it on a napkin on the table in front of her and then gulp as she swallowed the flesh.

"Mine's long gone. This one's all yours".

"I'd say what I've just seen almost constitutes cannibalism". Bond laughed and declined the offered fruit as he called the waiter over and enquired about the hotels wine cellar.

"Could I suggest something new sir? Something that is becoming all the rage" The waiter enthused.

"And what might that be?"

"Chinese wine sir!" The waiter exclaimed with mock surprise. "We have several bottles from their oldest winery Changyu which was founded in 1892. May I suggest a bottle of the Changyu Noble Dragon cabernet-syrah blend from their estate in Shandong? It is the world's best-selling wine. Millions of bottles have been sold; they've outstripped the whole of Rioja".

"I presume most of the sales were domestic?"

"No sir. The Spanish love it and to the Chinese it is simply national pride in a bottle. The Noble Dragon is a "dry" wine, along with the Cabernet and Syrah there is also a dash of their local variety known as Dragon's Eye, which gives it its distinct flavour. Shall I have a bottle brought up from the cellar?"

Bond had tasted Chinese wines before and found them to be competently made, but with an austere finish. Admittedly they could stand with pride among the ranks of commercial wines produced and sold all over the world, but the wines were more at home in their own environment. They served a distinctly Chinese corporate world inside which there's a fierce desire to make an indigenous equivalent to anything the outside world could create. He'd tasted several wines from different wineries during a tasting evening at Berry Brothers and Rudd's St James Street store. After each one he was quietly content that he hadn't paid for it and he'd made a quick B line across the road to Dukes bar for a mouth cleansing martini. What they really lacked was any sense of distinctiveness, any sense of terroir. The Terroir was often thought to be the soil in which wine grapes are grown, but Bond knew it represented much more than that. It was also the microclimate, the elevation, the exposure to the sun and the human element. In the Old World, where wines had been made for centuries, this human element was not only the hand of the winemaker but often an expression of the community and culture that was reflected in the wine. In the New World, where making wine was more of a commercial effort, the human element tended to reflect an entrepreneurial spirit. Chinese wines were entrepreneurial in nature. Their reason for existing was primarily to win over an audience rather than reflect an age-old tradition. High priced wines were often bought to simply "give face" before a client, a boss or a mistress, and most red wines were in the style of Bordeaux, as the luckiest colour to the Chinese was red and Bordeaux was thought to be the greatest appellation of all. Bond thought they were cold, not in the temperature sense, but lacking in passion. They served a purpose, he just didn't understand, in the realm of fine wine, what that was. He couldn't though ignore Chinas drive to dominate virtually everything.

"No thank you. I'll stick to the old adage when in Rome". Bond ordered a bottle of the local Rosie wine Clos Cibonne Tibouren "Tradition" Cotes de Provence Rose 2014. They could relax for the remainder of the day and the local rosés were unlike any other – herbal and aromatic, dry with slight tannin with excellent structure and richness that came from ageing on the lees for a year prior to bottling. This particular wine Bond had experienced before. It was earthy and full of the scent of the garrigue, the herby wild underbrush that grows in the limestone-rich soils of Provence; much of which came from the use of the local Tibouren grape. This wine overflowed with terroir.

The waiter poured a small amount of the salmon copper-orange hued liquid into Bonds glass. Bond pushed the glass towards Cherry.

"Tell me what your sensors say". Cherry took a thoughtful sip of the wine.

"It tastes and smells of orange and melon; a bit peachy".

"It's quite complex. Can you taste the Allspice?" Judging by Cherry's blank expression, maybe that was too much to expect. Bond instructed the waiter to fill both glasses.

"It makes my mouth tingle". Cherry giggled.

"That's the salty minerality". Cherry again was the proud owner of a completely blank expression.

"Talking of minerals are you aware of the "Blood mineral" act James?" Cherry whispered whilst staring intently at Bond, moving the conversation back to safer territory.

"Is that the one which prevents the sale of blood diamonds?"

"Kind of; you mentioned in M's office that conflict minerals were strictly controlled. Well this is how, it's an act that was buried deep inside the U.S. financial reform bill, which contained a little-known amendment, called the Brownback bill, more commonly referred to as the Dodd-Frank act. This was aimed at regulating the market of international trade in minerals such as Tantalum from areas where genocidal war was being carried out, areas like the Democratic Republic of Congo. Materials deemed as "Conflict" Tantalum, Gold, Tin and Tungsten were used to fund armed rebels, who have been carrying out horrendous acts of violence. Over a fifteen-year period the source of Tantalum has changed from being mainly mined in Australia to being predominantly mined in Rwanda and the DRC. The substantial decrease was a result of high extraction costs and an unfavourable exchange rate, which meant that mining the ore was no longer viable in Australia. This change raised concerns about Tantalums status as a conflict mineral. The Dodd-Frank Act meant that companies registered with the US Securities and Exchange Commission had to trace the source of any minerals and only use accredited resources. The bill stopped the use of "blood" minerals, dead. The immediate effect was to reduce the world supply of Tantalum by eighty percent, pushing the price up from Twenty dollars per pound to Three hundred and eighty dollars per pound. Billecart and Loxley have been buying interests in several mines around the world. Namely Canada and Brazil, but it wasn't until they bought a controlling stake in the Australian operation just before the amendment to the finance bill was ratified that they became of interest to us".

"They expected to make a financial killing, with the DRC's supply being neutralized". Bond guessed whilst taking a sip of the Rosie wine.

"One can easily assume that". Cherry gulped at her wine. "President Menga had over stayed his constitutional term, engaging in glissement to delay legitimate elections. He was even turning against the Chinese, who had been investing heavily in the country. Our government was eager to step into the void, if the trade deal was favourable and the genocide stopped. Unfortunately, there appeared no sign of that happening. Then fate intervened".

"With President Adoula coming to power on a tide of good will and great expectation as the saviour of Africa, the bank's investment now looks basically dead money".

"Dead money, Yes, with the new find the DRC has already increased its supply of Tantalum from seventeen percent to around forty percent of the world's supply. All of which will soon be considered legitimate. Central African countries like the DRC, Rwanda and Burundi are sitting on a rich seam of Coltan. Making good what was once previously considered the pariah of the global tantalite industry". Cherry couldn't hide her interest and excitement of the subject. "It was a close-run thing though that B&L did; it wasn't the investment folly you might think; only the change of leader affected their plans and if Adoula doesn't live up to his hype. It may yet prove to have been a good decision. The only concern would be if one country dominated the supply".

"I can see you're passionate about these metals, but enough of work. Tell me about you". Bond wanted to change the subject. He wanted to avoid further discussion around the assassination of President Menga. That was a different subject.

"Refill my glass James". As Bond passed the freshly replenished glass she leant over and sipped from the rim whilst he still held it, her hand brushed his as she grasped the stem.

"What would you like to know? I'm single if that interests you". She angled her head away, turned scarlet and winced with embarrassment when she realised how brazen that had sounded.

"Where does someone called Blossom live? Every now and then there's a definite a hint of Gaelic in your otherwise indistinguishable accent".

"Surely James you don't want to move in with me already. I hardly know you". Cherry teased. "Full marks though. I was born in Belfast, but my mother moved to Chelsea when I was young. We've lived there ever since".

"Your father?"

"He died when I was young. I don't remember him. I only have a few old photographs and mother never talks about him". Cherry's voice lowered as she looked away, the thought of not knowing one of her parents clearly pained her. Bond didn't persist.

"You appear to know M quite well. What's the story there?"

"He's my God father, been a family friend for as long as I can remember. Funny thing is I didn't realize what he did for a living until I'd been in intelligence for a couple of years. Then I only found out by accident. I do hope you don't think I got the job because of narcissism?"

"That would depend if I thought you had the making of a megalomaniac, which I don't think you are. The word you were looking for is nepotism." Both laughed out loud as they slumped back into the comfortable chairs. The snooty waiter looked on disapprovingly as the alcohol fuelled conversation became relaxed. Nothing else was mentioned about the suspicious surname and Bond managed to avoid revealing any of his inner most secrets by skilful manipulation of the conversation.

Moneypenny had requested two separate rooms, when she had made the reservation, although they were adjoining; was she trying to tell Bond something? He'd turned down the rather blatant offer of sex on the beach but had been tempted to take up Cherry's offer of sharing a room after they had indulged in several bottles of the Rosie wine. He was growing close to this young woman. She was without doubt sexually attractive and her youthful exuberance was starting to rub off on him. He was shocked when he found himself politely turning the offer down. He held Cherry closely as he took in her scent and kissed her on the cheek, avoiding her offered lips, and wished her a good night before guiding her into the room and closing the door behind her. The urge to knock on the closed door and accept her offer immediately engulfed him. He desired her, why change a habit of a life time he reasoned, even though he was nearly twenty years her senior, but he found himself uncharacteristically hesitating; his fist hovering in front of the door, was she too hot to handle? A paternal instinct held him back. He smiled at his own weakness and then walked away.

"James. You're getting to old for this" he muttered under his breath. He strode past his room and down the stairs to the reception where Camille was on duty, a tall dark brunette; who was also an old acquaintance.

"Good evening Mr. Bond. I hope all is well?"

"I'm sorry to say I have a problem with my room. Can I show you what the issue is?"

"Certainly Mr. Bond; It's generally quiet this time of night. I'm sure I can spare a short while". She had encountered this problem before.

Bond rose at the crack of dawn. Camille had left him sleeping several hours earlier. The bedroom overlooked the Mediterranean along the Beaulieu-Sur-Mer coastline and had recently been refurbished. The charming new suite fused an antiquated air with ultra-modern amenities. Light wooden faux antique wardrobes were adorned with delicate designs that lent a quaint aur. The bathrooms blended white wood with flame red and grey-brown facies of sarrancolin llhet marble which had been taken from the 17th century "Royal Quarries" found in the Mountains of the Hautes-Pyrénées during the reign of Louis XIV. Sarrancolin llhet marble was one of the most striking marbles in the world, a material so noble it was used for the fireplace in the Chateau de Versailles. The wood and marble created a harmonious blend between calm and sophistication that was reflected in the smallest detail of the rooms' decoration. Bond showered to bring himself around and shake off the mild hangover. He used the Hermes branded toiletries; which added to the all-important sense of luxury. He dressed in a navy Sea Island cotton T shirt and sand coloured cotton shorts and took the opportunity to jog along the narrow, dusty well-travelled pathways that lead from Beaulieu-sur-Mer to the colourful neighbouring town of Villefranche-sur-mer.

The town was largely empty and free of the local Belugans as Bond commenced his jog. It was early and the only sign of civilization was the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the boulangeries in the town centre. It wasn't long before he had left the town and was pounding along the surrounding countryside. He scrambled amid scree and wild grasses and skirted fragrant lemon groves. The scent of citrus fruit permeated and infused the fresh salty sea air as he breathed heavily. The hills frizzed with flowering yellow broom, which was alive with birds and butterflies. Leaves danced in the endless whirl of the gusty, cool mistral wind that was blowing from the north carrying the dusty green garrigue, with its mix of pine shrubs, spicy herbs and sweet flowers scent; that typified the Riviera. Bond took a moment to rest against an olive tree that had contorted itself against the assault of the sun. He looked down the hillside over the tiled rooftops of local residences that protruded out amongst the Aleppo pines like orange steppingstones and on to the aquamarine sea beyond. A large five story yacht had drawn his attention as it was preparing to drop anchor just off the coast of Beaulieu-sur-Mer. Nothing unusual in that thought Bond. There were plenty of luxury vessels in this part of the world, but this one was at the premium end of the scale and very handsome.

On returning he dove into the cool salty water of the hotels two thousand–square–foot outdoor pool and completed fifty laps. He noticed Cherry walk down the steps from the restaurants terrace as he climbed out of the pool. She removed her robe, dropped it onto a sun lounger and walk along the edge of the pool. Her athletic figure was perfectly proportioned and was accentuated by a burnt orange bikini that left very little to the imagination. Something Bond had not seen before was the tattoo that covered her right side. A colourful Cherry blossom tree grew from her hip and spread across the right-hand side of her stomach and ribs, the branches of which cradled her right breast. He felt the all too familiar sign of arousal stirring, but something, he couldn't determine what, again held him back, tempering his lust. She dove into the pool at the deep end. Bond considered a cold shower might be appropriate but sufficed with chastising himself for the thoughts he'd had. He dried, wrapped himself in one of the hotels soft white dressing gowns and walked the short distance to the terrace that overlooked the pool; chose a table that was shaded from the strengthening sun by a sherbet orange coloured parasol and ordered breakfast. It wasn't long before he was enjoying a perfectly cooked scrambled egg; simple and filling. The smell of freshly ground coffee was thick in the air. He thumbed through the pages of the Riviera Reporter the local English language magazine not really taking in its contents. He was distracted by the yacht he had noticed on his morning run. It was moored three hundred yards off the coast and from his current position could be viewed in more detail. The first thing that struck him was the name plate prominently positioned at the bow of the ship it was in high gloss black that stood out against the stalk white hull of the ship. The words read "Republique du Zaire" and were preceded by a plate cast in gold with the image of a fore arm and fist clutching a flaming torch. The flames stood out in brilliant red lacquer. He couldn't help but notice the coincidence, given his recent activities in the country that was once called Zaire. At the aft of the ship were the red ensigns of a Hong Kong registered ship, the national flag of the People's Republic of China was positioned directly above the regional flag of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region with its stylized, five-petal white Hong Kong orchid tree flower in the centre of a red field. Both flapped in the gentle breeze from the transom that extended from the helicopter landing pad. The yacht held a commanding presence on the water with her uniquely enormous, but traditional exterior looks.

A waiter disturbed Bond by delivering a selection of home-made croissants, pain au chocolat, brioche and fresh bread, juicy, ripe apricots and Mara des Bois berries all fresh from the Beaulieu market. Something he presumed Cherry had ordered.

Bond acknowledged him with a nod.

"She is beautiful".

"Extremely" Bonds eyes returned to the yacht. Yacht watching was a stealthy and most satisfying pastime in the region. Everyone appreciated the sight of a mega yacht when it appeared on the horizon.

"Expensive?"

"Without a doubt". Probably several hundred million dollars Bond estimated.

"You are a very lucky man indeed; your wife or daughter perhaps?" The waiter smirked.

"Associate". Bond snapped, realising the waiters' attention wasn't on the yacht "Why don't you just run along. I'm sure there's a viennoiserie that needs your attention".

He looked across at the pool, to where the waiter had been looking. Cherry was ascending the pool ladder after completing her fifty lengths. She was indeed a fine-looking woman he thought as she wrapped herself in a dressing gown and walked across the veranda to join him for breakfast.

"It's a nice hotel, but the staff can be a bit stuffy, don't you think? Did you see how the waiter looked at me?" Cherry spoke in a hushed tone. Bond just smiled.

"I wouldn't worry about him. He's gone to attend his pastries". He took a bite of the croissant. She was right the staff could appear stuffy to the uninitiated, it occasionally appeared that they and the guests were at odds regarding the master and servant role, but the service was excellent, and the staff managed to pleasingly combine the attentions one would lavish on royalty with the familiarity of an old friend. Bond loved the formality. It was part of the lieu de magie and unique brand of subtle and distinguished air that had kept drawing him back time after time. Cherry quickly ate her breakfast and then excused herself so she could attend the hotels spa where she had a tension-relieving pressure point massage and exotic Body Scrub booked. She was clearly thrilled and went to great lengths to explain that the scrub contained Bora Bora white sand; sea salt; Tahitian vanilla and coconut shell Bond thought it all a little unnecessary as he sipped his black coffee that had recently been refilled by the aloof waiter.

Bond showered and dressed in the time Cherry received her treatment. He wore a light weight navy blue suit with a tie less open collared White Sea island cotton shirt. He slipped on a pair of black leather loafers and walked back down to the bar and ordered a chilled orange juice. Cherry appeared ten minutes later. She looked radiant in a light-weight cerulean blue dress. A rectangle shaped crystal pendant hung around her neck and sat where the neckline of the dress plunged. Her complexion was radiant from the spa session that had been carried out by Audrey, another old acquaintance of Bonds. Bond stood and kissed her on both cheeks. He inhaled the sour and Smokey citrus aroma of Noomi Basra, the dried black lime that was often used in Middle Eastern cuisine, the essence of which was found in the hotels complimentary unisex Hermes Eau de Citron Noir cologne.

"You've been sampling the complimentary toiletries".

"Naturally; they're Hermes". She squealed as she dropped two silver and black key fobs onto the table. Both had the familiar Aston Martin wings prominently embossed in the centre.

"They've dropped your rental car off". Cherry announced. Not really knowing who "They" were.

**0011**

**The Company Car**

The magnetic silver Aston Martin DB 11 was parked just outside the hotel entrance. The exterior of the hotel looked like a private luxury home painted rose instead of the Riviera standard white. There was a circular block paved drive built around a small garden that was home to four massive Hyères palm trees that offered dappled shade to the parked cars. A high wall with wrought iron fencing and tall wrought iron double gates surrounded the drive and kept unwanted visitors at bay, adding to the hotel's exclusivity. The DB 11's paint work sparkled with a contrasting gloss black roof and roof strakes. The contrasting colour was a modernist move that Bond wasn't overly keen on; Vauxhall had adopted the same design trait of all things. There was also a garish splash of colour that could be found in the red brake callipers that fortunately were partially hid behind the black twenty-inch wheels. The styling wasn't as curvaceous as his previous Vantage. It was more aggressively modern. The front end was as usual defined by the Aston Martin grille, flanked by sleek LED headlights leading to a massive clamshell bonnet. The aluminium bodywork then contorted and tapered towards the swollen rear arches that terminated in a flat rear end eschewing to a traditional boot flick reminiscent of his beloved older generation Aston Martin. Slim boomerang rear lights in a smoked red integrated well into the shapely rear. It may not have been his favourite Aston; was he falling out of love with the marquee? It was a long way from his beloved DB5 that was over 50 years old, but that car always challenged, satisfied and excited in equal measure. He couldn't though completely disagree with Cherry when she exclaimed "It's gorgeous".

He pulled the carbon fibre door release and opened the passenger door for the lady. Cherry tumbled into the cabin and swung her legs over the slim sill into the deep spacious foot well. Bond then moved around to the left-hand side, slipped into the cabin and settled back into the comfortable obsidian black, hand stitched leather seat.

The high centre console and shapely, high-rise dashboard was familiar, but the instruments and fittings were an improvement from previous models; solid, grained, expensive-feeling. A satin-finish aluminium look was common to much of the trim. There was a handmade quality to most things he touched, like the brogue leather on the seats, doors and the stitching around the satellite navigation screen. He flicked the metal paddles with his fingernails and heard a reassuring 'ting, ting'. Something that wasn't on the usual options list was the secure tray that slid out from under the driver's seat at the press of a button positioned just to the left and under the steering wheel. The tray contained Both Bonds Beretta Nano and Cherry's Pico with spare magazines for both. Bond passed the petite Pico to Cherry who hitched up her dress to reveal a soft leather holster positioned on the inside of her well-formed and tanned left thigh. She placed the pistol in the holster and readjusted her dress.

A press of a button started the 600bhp twin-turbo 5.2-litre V12 engine with a hollow howl and brought to life the digital instrument dials and the infotainment system that sat prominently central to the dashboard like a docked tablet.

He instinctively reached for the hand brake that usually sat outboard of the driver's seat but was found wanting as he realized most modern cars now came with an automatic parking brake.

Bond selected the drive button on the centre console engaging the ZF eight-speed gearbox. The DB 11 gently pulled away from its parking berth with an ostentatious warble, slipped under the wrought iron sign announcing the hotels name "_La Reserve de Beaulieu_". He waited as two black Bentley Bentayga's sped past the entrance along the Boulevard du Marechal Leclerc. Their occupants hidden behind smoked glass: Anonymity was a frequent desire on the Riviera. He pulled out of the hotels forecourt and turned left. The car effortlessly accelerated along the Basse Corniche, the lower of three cliff roads carved into the mountainside that traverse parallel to each other along the Riviera between Nice and Menton.

The Basse Corniche or Corniche Inférieure followed the coastline past the coastal resorts and beaches. Bathed in unique light, the crystalline waters lapping the pristine coast were so blue they appeared to be competing with the sky. Contrary to its polyonymous name the road was far from inferior as it is the busiest of the three roads, especially in summer and any time that resembled rush hour. Fortunately for Bond the road was now relatively clear.

They travelled out of Beaulieu on the Boulevard Fernand Dunan and passed the casino on their right. A stunning building that offered an experience to rival a night at Monte Carlo. Bond had won and lost at the tables in equal measure. He would make sure he initiated Cherry in its delights. The Baie Des Fourmis shimmered to their left as they passed the marina and beach. He drove with the window down, so he could enjoy the growl of the V12 engine and take in the local aroma. It was ninety degrees under a glorious clear blue sky that morning, and the fragrance of wild rosemary and thyme spiced the sultry air. The DB11 was a modern evolution and was brimming with a sense of occasion. There was something imperious about the V12, an irresistible luxury that only an oversized, overpowered engine could supply asit became beautifully vocal as the revolutions rose. As they travelled west toward Villefranche sur le mar, skirting the rail line, on the Boulevard Napoleon III an Aprilia RSV4 RR bike loomed large in the car's rear-view mirror, bobbing around the rear of the car like an irritating insect, probing for an opportunity to overtake. Bond gently applied pressure to the accelerator and the car surged forward.

"There's one more aspect to consider in all this. Since the West has been insisting upon human rights improvements for the aid it supplies. It has left the door open to the Chinese, who have a less scrupulous idea of aid. They have been pursuing nothing short of a neo colonialist policy in Africa over the past few decades under the umbrella of solidarity between developing nations; investing hugely whilst the West has remained aloof, believing the continent to be to complex and dangerous. We could be seeing the early signs of a move by China to dominate the continents global resources including Tantalum". Cherry interrupted Bonds appreciation.

"It's important that we secure close co-operation with President Adoula?"

"You could say that. China has successfully bought influence in most of Africa, but the DRC has been a little more difficult, even after investing over Six billion pounds the previous President was distancing himself from China before his demise. I think he'd realized that the seemingly unconditional support came with a real cost, especially after China was caught bugging the African Union headquarters. The UK government had reached out and was hopeful of snatching a trade deal from under the Chinese nose"

"What's Adoulas background; could he have been involved in the Presidents accident?"

Before Cherry could reply there was an ear-splitting screech as the Aprilia overtook the Aston. The rider in a black leather outfit and helmet was hunched over the matt black machine, appearing to be almost as one with the machine. The bike accelerated away goading Bond into pursuit. The car answered his request for more power as he pressed hard on the accelerator the turbocharged engine developed what felt like a relentless stream of power with little lag. Although even with an acceleration of just under four seconds and a top speed of two hundred miles per hour the DB11 was clearly a Grand Tourer and not a sports car with a broad and stout but ultimately laid-back, pleasingly unstressed kind of delivery he normally wanted from an Aston; Just not now. The ride was extraordinarily good, as they navigated the smooth winding road with the adaptive dampers giving a firm ride. The car traversed the relatively smooth tarmac; on one side cliffs cascaded down to the train line and twinkling periwinkle blue water beyond and on the other, gentle hills blanketed in thick pine forests were dotted with rustic villas. He wondered, with great scepticism, whether the ride would be as good on British roads: What a wonder the Basse Corniche really was. The cars body breathing with each minor undulation, not pitching or heaving far enough to make it deflect from its intended direction. The frequency of its movements was gentle and low. The engine's weight manifested itself in a tendency for the car to under steer from the apex when the throttle was too keenly pressed. The Aprilia roared through the centre of Villefranche followed closely by the DB11. The town was high above the bay often frequented by tourist cruise lines. A steady stream of tenders serviced a large ship at anchorage. Their passengers destined for the train station that sat just above the beach. The train line ran adjacent to the sea taking visitors to nearby Nice or Monaco. Cherry looked petrified as they negotiated their way around a local bus. Bond was enjoying the chase, even at full stride; the car didn't feel like it was working too hard.

The bike had caught up with the two black Bentley Bentayga's in front and the rider reached forward and appeared to attach a small round object, the size and shape of a small plate, to the tail gate of the rear vehicle as they slowed for a pair of red traffic lights. The lights changed to green and the Bentayga's moved steadily forward, but the Aprilia remained stationary, the rider positioning the bike in the centre of the road.

"Did you see that?" Cherry had observed the unusual act.

Bond pressed his horn, in true continental fashion as he brought the Aston to a stop immediately behind the bike. The rider was concentrating on the departing vehicles and ignored the noise. Other vehicles began to blow their horns and the rider just pushed an arm backwards with a hand out stretched in a sign to stop. The Bentayga's were a hundred yards away when the rear vehicle burst into an incandescent white ball of flames. The rear axle was ripped from the vehicle and flung across the road as the surrounding area was blasted with fragments of glass. Luckily there were no pedestrians or vehicles in the immediate vicinity. The rider hunched over the bikes petrol tank and the Aprilia launched forward, passing the stranded vehicle in a split second. Cherry screamed at the explosion and was pushed back into the Balmoral leather seat as Bond floored the accelerator, pushing the car into hot pursuit. The driver and passenger of the Bentayga staggered out of the wrecked vehicle, dazed, as the DB11 shot past. Bond brushed the steel brakes a touch earlier than felt natural as the car entered a tight corner; slow in, fast out the electromechanical steering felt light creating an absence of body roll that left him guessing when the tires were pushed to the edge of adhesion. Their screams were the only indication, but they maintained their grip allowing the car to close on the bike. The lead Bentayga had immediately sped away when the other had exploded. There had been no hesitation as the driver had instinctively begun defensive driving. Swerving and travelling at great speed, weaving in and out of traffic. The Aprilia was following as though it was maternally attached by an umbilical cord.

"Can you use that toy gun of yours and take out the rider or would you prefer mine" Bond spoke calmly to Cherry as he lowered the passenger window with a press of a button and manoeuvred the Aston into the centre of the road. Cherry ignored his barbed comment and hunched up her dress revealing the soft leather holster wrapped around her thigh. The Beretta Pico was taken out and the safety removed. Cherry released her seat belt and positioned herself partially out of the open window. She held the Pico in both hands and took aim.

As the three vehicles moved onto the Avenue Albert 1er the rider of the bike again reached out and attached a plate like device to the left-hand rear side of the large vehicle and then accelerated away. The rider noticed the rapidly approaching Aston Martin in the bikes wing mirrors, momentarily saw a flash and immediately felt a crack as a bullet ricocheted off the crash helmet. The Aprilia swerved to the left and narrowly missed a lorry travelling in the opposite direction. The rider struggled to keep control as the bike wobbled and bucked down the narrow gap between the road side Armco and the lorry. Bond slammed on the brakes and swung the DB11 back into the right-hand lane as the oncoming lorry suddenly appeared. Cherry's second shot went harmlessly into the air. When the lorry had passed the bike had disappeared.

"Cherry try to grab the mine" Bond shouted as he pulled the DB11 alongside the Bentley.

"Mine? What mine?" She shouted.

"That mine". Bond jabbed a finger towards the olive-green device that was attached to the rear of the swerving vehicle. He positioned the DB11 as near as was safely possible. Both vehicles were travelling in excess of eighty miles per hour and the Bentayga's driver naturally wasn't co-operating. Cherry pushed herself out as far as she dared. Her hands slapped against the hard body as both vehicles violently negotiated the undulating road. The DB11 moved close and Cherry's fingers touched the mine, but yet again Bond applied the brakes to avoid another oncoming vehicle. The DB11 slotted in behind the Bentley, the force almost throwing Cherry out against the cliff side. Bond reached out and held tightly onto her ankle. Again, the Aston surged forward. Cherry repositioned herself and inadvertently kicked Bond in the face as her legs flailed about the interior of the car. This time though she managed to place her well-manicured fingers around the mine, grip and pull hard, releasing the magnetic hold. She collapsed back into her seat holding the mine tightly against her chest as though it was a precious trophy. Bond spun the DB11 and the car came to a screeching halt on the opposite side of the road. He looked at Cherry and then at the mine.

"I didn't think I'd get it. It looks like a designer clutch bag don't you think?" Cherry beamed with joy and satisfaction at her achievement.

"Are you going to get rid of it then, before it explodes?" Cherry's eyes widened as realization dawned. She scrambled to release the door catch, but as her fingers touched the aluminium door release the door was yanked open. A long haired, poorly kept young man wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt ripped the mine from her grasp. It all happened in an instance. The man sprinted to his parked scooter placing the mine in a shoulder bag, leaped on his bike and made his getaway. Cherry furious at being a victim of _vol a la portiere_, the Nice crime specialty of bag snatching from a parked vehicle, tried to give chase. Bond held her back.

"That could have been an expensive handbag". Cherry protested.

"I think he's in for one hell of a shock. It may not be expensive, but it's certainly explosive".

Bond spun the car and accelerated away along the Boulevard Princesse Grace de Monaco in the opposite direction.

The rider of the Aprilia watched the whole event unfold through a pair of binoculars. The bike was parked in a lay by high above the road. Who was driving the Aston Martin and who was the idiot on the scooter? The scooter could be seen weaving dangerously in and out of traffic. As it cleared a bend in the road the traffic dissipated. The Aprilia rider pressed a button on a small radio transmitter. The petty thief and the scooter evaporated in a flash of light and puff of swirling smoke. The pop of the explosion followed shortly afterwards. That was one less dangerous driver on the roads.

**0012**

**Queen of the Riviera**

Nice, the Queen of the Riviera was a mix of natural beauty, plastic glamour and congested metropolis. The weather was generally perfect, and the beaches were stunning, but the traffic was awful and there were some less than beautiful areas. The traffic was particularly bad as Bond manoeuvred the DB11 around the harbour along the Boulevard Carnot. The city was crisscrossed with poorly indicated one-way streets, and with a multitude of road works the city was full of detours**. **Lane markings were only seen as "suggestions" by the local drivers, who rarely used their indicators. Cars were often double-parked in bike lanes, without a second thought, and motorcycles swarmed through traffic like flies. There was always a danger of turning onto a street and finding oneself trapped in a bus-only lane with a giant impassable barrier or missing a Stoplight that were often placed without reason, awkwardly positioned and easy to miss; an indiscretion that would almost certainly be picked up by a traffic camera. Bond was conscious of this as he travelled along Rue Cassini and turned right on to the Boulevard Risso nearing their destination; The Palais des Congrès Acropolis convention centre which was located on the Kennedy plaza. The Acropolis was a three-storey building, three-hundred-meter-long and sixty meters wide. The car park was below the building and was accessed via the Boulevard Risso. Bond guided the DB11 down the ramp, after both their credentials had been checked and verified by security, and into the depths of the dimly lit car park. It didn't take long for him to identify a suitable parking booth and as he drew the car to a stop, he noticed the black Bentley Bentayga parked nearby, a cordon of armed security guards prevented him from closely inspecting the vehicle. He removed his mobile phone and used the camera to photograph the number plate, which would have to suffice for now. The phone accessed a database and much to Bonds annoyance returned a *Restricted* banner. Who had been the occupant? He walked around to the rear of the DB11 and opened the boot and retrieved a shoulder bag, opened the clips and checked the contents. Satisfied all was in order, he slung the bag over his shoulder and closed the boot.

An elevator took them both up to the entrance hall known as the "Agora" The Agora separated the concrete and glass building in two and was an open area with large ribbed square concrete columns that supported the roof. Along the ground floor were numerous modular rooms, conference rooms and access doors to several auditoriums. Each was accessed via a glossy red door. At the end of the Agora was a wide central staircase bordered on either side by escalators that lead to a further two floors. The black steel and glass balustrades were angled outwards allowing delegates to congregate around and look down on to the busy marble floor of the hall. Everyone was either discussing business or nonchalantly people watching. The convention was fully booked. Cherry had the required passes to allow both access to the Rare Metals Trade Conference which was being held on the third floor "Les Muses" reception room and the large exhibition hall that was attached to the convention centre. Both walked up the staircase to the second floor. The stalk beige marble flooring gave way to a multi-coloured carpet fashioned like a massive bar-code; a migraine inducing mix of reds blues and yellows. Bond felt like returning to the car to retrieve his sunglasses. Although the conference was on the third floor, it was the smaller Galliéni committee rooms, rented by companies like Billecart and Loxley that Bond and Cherry were looking for. These rooms could be found on the west side of the building. The corridors that ran adjacent to the large Apollo Hall were painted a dull grey with tangerine orange doors to each room. The colour scheme was bright and not to Bonds taste. Each door had a business name plate attached. It wasn't long before Cherry had identified the one allocated to Billecart and Loxley Investment Bank. Bond knocked on the door and tried the handle. It was locked. He removed a credit card from his wallet and placed it against the scanner; after several seconds there was a reassuring click as the door unlocked. The card was connected via Bluetooth to the hacking program built into his watch. Bond pushed the door open and walked into the spacious office. Other than the usual office furniture, it was empty.

"Hello". Bond called out to make sure that no one was in the adjoining room. There was no reply.

Cherry optimistically looked around in search of the laptop. When she was unable to locate it her gaze settled on the large window that gave a view down on to Kennedy Plaza with its green park and statues. The statues were unusual, but none were as strange as the enormous matte grey square head statue that was called La Tête Carrée. The statue sat on the corner of Promenade des Arts; La Tête Carrée looked out over the Place Yves Klein from the small but colourful Jardin Maréchal Juin. The twenty-eight-meter-high statue was built in 2002 and was based on the design of Sacha Sosno. It was designed to incorporate administration and offices and the central library across its seven floors: The world's first habitable statue.

"Weird". Cherry was perplexed as she pointed out of the window.

"French". Bond replied as he scanned the window. He tried the handle and the window swung open sufficiently enough for someone to climb through. He peered down onto a glass canopy that covered the entrance to the Acropolis. The drop was about four meters onto the canopy, but survivable if the glass held. The ground could be found after another six-meter drop from the corner of the canopy. Several fountains and the busy Traverse Barla sat between the entrance and the La Tête Carrée.

"You're not suggesting we leave this way, are you? What's wrong with the way we came in?" Cherry looked down at the daunting drop.

"It always pays to have an alternative way out. I'll push you when the time comes".

"It looks like Mr. Billecart has his lap top with him. We could try the Exhibition hall". Cherry suggested. Bond nodded.

The exhibition hall was massive. Reinforced concrete arches creating a vaulted ceiling allowing sunlight to flood the whole area through massive Plexiglas panels; giving an airy, open feel to the room. The hall was full of stalls that primarily related to the business of mining rare minerals. All the major mining companies were represented along with machinery manufactures and end users from the aerospace, communication and defence industries. The stalls ranged from the simple to the extravagant, where hospitality was the key. Bond looked down from the second floor. There were thousands of delegates, some watching presentations on the latest use of Yttrium or Hafnium or the latest extraction device, but most just wandered aimlessly around clutching their brochures and carrier bags full of their hard-earned contraband, branded ballpoint pens, note pads and the current favourite give away, a miniature key ring torch. The more select conference delegate, the ones who were there to spend unthinkably large amounts of money, were removed from the zombie like existence, enjoying expensive champagne and fine dining in secure hospitality suites that were often found above the "coal face" stalls.

"We need to mingle. I suggest we split up. Phone me if you see him. Remember you work for Universal Exports if anyone asks". Bond instructed Cherry as they began to descend the large open stairs that lead to the exhibition floor. Each went in a separate direction. Cherry made her way to a table that was strewn with folded maps of the venue. She unfolded the map and quickly identified the location she was looking for. Billecart and Loxley had their own stall.

Bond navigated through the crowd. He could never understand why people wanted to endure such a nightmare in the name of work. The whole thing was tedious. He was beginning to lose the will to live when he saw President Patrice Kitengi Adoula. The big man was being escorted around the hall by a large entourage; the bandaged stump of his right arm held above his head as a triumphant status symbol. His new-found celebrity easing the physical pain the loss of his hand had caused. Bodyguards aggressively cleared a path so he could wander around oblivious to the crush suffered by everyone else. In fact, his presence was adding to the discomfort of everyone else, like the destructive wake of a giant oil tanker in a small boating lake. Bond wondered if Adoula was the occupant of the Bentley Bentayga that was parked in the garage. If so, it was the second time he'd been instrumental in saving the man's life and may have explained why there was a restriction on the vehicles license plate. Adoula's presence was a testament to the man's resilience and the medical care he had received; it had barely been three weeks since his horrific injury and rescue, yet he was already playing the part of an international statesman. After the rescue Adoula had been transferred to a private trauma clinic in the Lindo wing of St Mary's hospital in London. He had shunned any cosmetic treatment, wanting the world to see his sacrifice, but had received the latest available technology to stabilise his condition and fast track his recovery. This included the use of "Hololens" an approach where augmented reality technology was used to detect blood vessels, rapidly increasing the chance and rate of recovery. Bond couldn't help but admire the man, yet he kept his distance; the last thing he wanted was to be recognized by an enthusiastically grateful, newly elected President of one of the most mineral rich countries in the world: Someone who was well and truly in the spot light and who could so easily inadvertently blow the mission.

Cherry found the stall and immediately identified the overweight figure of Dr Jeremy Billecart sat in the bar area. He was sat on a bar stool, leaning against the bar, sipping champagne from a flute whilst chatting to a well-dressed potential client. The briefcase, with the all-important lap top inside, lay tantalizingly close by.

Cherry phoned Bond and he was by her side just in time to see the client shake Billecarts hand and leave, having polished off half a bottle of champagne. Billecart having drunk considerably more, stood unsteadily, slung the briefcase over his shoulder and made his way through the crowds to the male convenience. Bond followed carrying an identical case.

The toilets were standard for such a large convention centre and were showing the signs of a long busy day. Blocked urinals and toilet paper strewn across the floor showed they were infrequently cleaned. Bond pushed through the door and made his way to the far wall. Billecart was swaying as he stood in front of a urinal. He was clearly worse for sampling the free-flowing alcohol. The laptop briefcase was slung loosely over his right shoulder. Bond re-adjusted his own briefcase onto his left shoulder and positioned himself in front of the urinal next to his target. He struggled with the zip in his trousers, feigning his own over indulgence, and then deliberately bumped shoulders with Billecart. Both laptop cases slipped to the floor. Bond apologized as he swiftly crouched and collected the fallen case. He returned Billecarts case, placing the strap back over his shoulder.

"Sorry old boy. I've had far too much of the fizzy stuff". He slipped the strap of his own case securely over his head, again apologized and then immediately retreated from the room. Billecart bemused by the whole incident opened the case and inspected its contents. Satisfied all was in order he preceded to stagger over to the wash basins completely unaware of the switch that had just occurred.

Cherry was waiting outside as Bond exited the room. Neither spoke. Both walked away heading back towards the office on the second floor.

Light was fading as afternoon turned into early evening. Bond was confident that no one would be returning to the office, but he locked the door nonetheless.

"We need to work quickly and download the contents, before someone comes". Cherry flipped open the laptop and placed it on a desk.

"Why don't we just take it with us". Bond asked thinking it was the obvious solution.

"Have you heard of the EPP, the Eraser Protection Program?" Cherry noted Bonds blank expression "The program links via Wi-Fi or Bluetooth to an auxiliary unit that is either kept on the owners' person or nearby. If the program does not receiver regular communication from this unit it will start deleting all files. We haven't the time to search for it, especially since it could be disguised as just about anything".

"Let's hope Billecart doesn't have it on his person". Bond removed his watch from his wrist and using his thumb nail picked at one of the links on the bracelet; once removed he pushed it into the lap tops USB port, it was connected wirelessly to the watch. Bond twisted the bezel and selected the appropriate program. After only a couple of minutes, that felt like an eternity, the security on the lap top had been overcome and they had full access to its contents. Cherry held her necklace and pulled the crystal pendant separating it from the chain, revealing a USB memory stick. She inserted the stick into a second port and started busily tapped away on the keyboard whilst reading the first document and downloading the whole file.

"Did you know Adoula was downstairs?"

"No, but I suppose it not the greatest surprise given his countries mineral wealth". Cherry thought for a second. "Do you think that was him in the Bentley, and is that his yacht moored off Beaulieu?" She was pleased with her deductive skills.

"The "_Republique du Zaire_" of course. That is a ridiculously expensive yacht. How's he afford that given the restrictions on conflict minerals haven't been lifted yet? The UK certainly hasn't paid for it".

"Isn't it obvious James? The yacht sails under the maritime flag of China. The Chinese have been splashing their cash and looking at this". Cherry pointed to the computer. "It appears China has been receiving illegal supplies of Tantalum from the DRC via Rwanda for some time. In 2013 Rwanda disclosed a dramatic boost in tantalum exports to become the world's largest exporter, shipping out to foreign smelters, all of which are in China, some 2,460 tons, that's twenty eight percent of the global totals of around 8,800 tons. That is more than double 2012's exports, even though they have consistently produced around 1,500 tons annually. It appears ore was being smuggled across the border from conflict areas in the DRC into Rwanda and Burundi for export. Tin and tantalum smuggled into Rwanda has been laundered through the country's domestic tagging system and exported as 'clean' Rwandan material. Billecart and Loxley have been instrumental in facilitating the financial transaction".

"What's China doing with all the Tantalum?" Bond enquired.

"Stockpiling I'd guess".

Bond glanced at his watch "How much longer?"

"Not long, we've downloaded eighty percent already". Cherry kept scanning the rapidly disappearing files for anything of interest.

A siren started to whale throughout the building as though someone had triggered the fire alarm. Bond glanced out of the window and could see people calmly filing out of the convention centre and congregating around set check points.

"What's happening James?"

"Stay focused. I suspect our little exchange has been discovered. Is there anything else of interest?"

"There are some documents in what looks like Mandarin 操作黑天鹅, Cāozuò hēi tiān'é" Cherry copied the title of the document and entered it into a translation program. "Operation Black Swan" and the text referred to Tantalum salt. Cherry looked blankly at Bond, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Neither had heard of either Operation Black Swan or Tantalum salt. A warning flashed on the screen.

"Oh no; damn. The Eraser program has kicked in. It's started deleting all the files".

"How long have we got?"

"I don't know, but we're losing the file" the script began to disappear line by line. Cherry instinctively pressed the print screen button in hope a printer was connected. Several seconds passed before a table top printer in the corner of the room burst into life churning out a partial hard copy of the Mandarin text. Bond neatly folded the paper and placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The room was suddenly cast into darkness as the lights in the building went out. Only the light from the lap top screen, running off its battery illuminated the office, casting an eerie glow across Cherry's face as she continued scanning the files.

"James?" she sounded worried.

"It's probably nothing but a typical French power outage or the building really is on fire". Cherry threw him an alarmed glance as he uncoupled his watch from the laptop. Bond clipped the bracelet link back in place and returned the watch to his wrist.

"Carry on searching the remaining files. See what you can find. We'll be out of here soon. I'm just going to see if I can get the lights back on". He tried to sound reassuring as he unlocked the door and left the room.

The corridor was in complete darkness; Bond twisted the bezel on the Omega until the required menu was displayed on the screen. He touched the screen and selected the torch app, the watch face turned a dull white, he again turned the bezel which increased the brightness sufficiently enough to allow him to navigate his way along the corridor towards two large lacquered orange doors. The name plate read "Apollo hall". He opened one door and slipped inside. The hall was enormous with three levels of terraced seating separated into two mezzanines and multiple balconies looking down towards a huge stage. Everything was in darkness, but Bond could still make out the angular tiers that were reminiscent of a science fiction spaceship. The torch illuminated bright purple seats as Bond made his way down the top tier towards the balcony edge. As he reached the edge, multiple laser beams darted around the auditorium scanning the stage and up into the seating. Bond crouched, immediately extinguished the torch and peered over the balcony. In the low light he could just make out at least two dozen men searching for something or someone, each holding what appeared to be a weapon that emitted the laser beam. All the individuals were wearing full assault gear and looked like they meant business. Still crouching he turned to leave and immediately felt the prod of a silenced sub machine gun touch his back and heard a voice.

"I have one of them on the third floor". The man was almost invisible in the dark, clad totally in black. A small green light around the eyes told Bond he was wearing night vision goggles. Bond feigned submission and as he stood, he twisted the bezel on his watch and closed his eyes. A low humming could be heard as he raised his arms in submission. He twisted his wrist, pointing the watch face in the man's direction. An intense flash emitted from the watch, blinding the night vision goggles and dazing his captor. Bond slickly moved, lifting the man and heaving him over the balconies edge. Swiftly making his way to the exit he could hear the commotion from below in the auditorium. He stepped through the double doors and was surprised the corridor lights were back on. He was momentarily blinded by the lights. Shielding his eyes from their brightness with his left hand; he again felt a hard silencer prod him in the back. He raised his arms and turned towards the threat. A uniformed guard stood in front of him, holding a Browning automatic at arm's length. The silencer warned Bond, telling him the guard wasn't the buildings usual security guard. Another guard entered the corridor, also armed with a silenced pistol. The movement of the second guard momentarily distracted the first. Bond didn't hesitate, he shifted his body parallel with the Browning, simultaneously grasping the weapon with his left hand and forcefully pushing it away from his body; he then brought his clenched right fist down hard against the man's cheek bone. The assault dazed the guard, his weapon discharged harmlessly into the plaster board wall. The Browning was pushed and twisted from his grip before he could regain his composure. Pain rushed through the mists of his confusion as his finger snapped with a vicious crack. Bond stepped back away from him and lashed out with his left foot, the force of the contact, just above the groin, sent the man crashing back against the corridor wall. Bond cleared and checked the weapon and fired two bullets into the prone man as he slumped on the floor. The second guard started to raise his weapon towards Bond who altered his aim and squeezed the trigger. Nothing; the Browning had jammed. A smile spread across the guards' face as he raised his weapon. Bond wondered whether his time was up; the inevitability of which he had so expertly hidden in the depths of his mind. Was death finally coming? He raised his hands and closed his eyes, tensing himself for the impact. Two shots rip through the quiet corridor. He'd experienced the pain of a gunshot wound several times before, but there was nothing; had death been instantaneous, bypassing pain? He dared to open his eyes. The guard was prone on the floor, cut down by two precisely aimed bullets to his chest. Bond turned to see Cherry shaking, her arms outstretched with the Beretta Pico clasped between both hands.

"I heard the commotion". Cherry explained her eyes red and moist.

"That toy gun does actually work! But now is not the time to dwell on this. There'll be time for that later. We need to go NOW". Bond barked the order. "Do you have the files?"

"Yes, they're in here". She indicated towards her crystal pendant as she replaced the Pico in her thigh holster.

Bond had noticed both guards had grenades clipped to their waistbands. He crouched and unhooked one from the nearest guard and placed it in his jacket pocket. He turned to Cherry.

"Let's get out of here".

Both walked towards the double doors that lead back to the Agora. As they neared the doors Bond stopped, he reached down and held Cherry's hand. Both looked into each other's eyes. It was deathly quiet; something wasn't quite right; a smell, the lack of sound; their senses screamed danger. Bond reached for his weapon. Cherry realizing something was wrong hitched up her dress and removed the Beretta Pico from its holster. As they both moved cautiously forward, weapons stretched out in front the orange lacquered doors exploded into a thousand splinters, raked with automatic gun fire. Bond dove to the floor, dragging Cherry down with him. He fired his Beretta towards the doors, more as a warning than a carefully aimed shot. The automatic fire continued ripping into the walls and ceiling of the corridor. Lights burst like fireworks above their heads, before being extinguished. Lasers probed the darkened corridor through the large holes blasted in the doors cutting through the dense cloud of burnt cordite that hung heavy in the air. Bond scrambled, staying close to the floor and dragged Cherry back into the room she had just left. He closed the doors behind them and pulled the desk in front forming a barricade.

"I'm afraid this wasn't a normal power cut". He moved towards the window. "You go first".

Cherry removed her shoes and held them as Bond helped her through the opening.

"I'm scared James". For the first time Bond thought she looked nervous.

"It's not far. Just remember to role when you hit the ground, like they teach you in parachute training".

"It's not that. When you were gone, I noticed an invoice with some payments that were from…" The door exploded as a shaped charge ripped it apart, throwing the desk across the room. Bond pushed Cherry out of the window before retrieving the grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin and lobbing it in the direction of the destroyed door; he then followed Cherry and launched himself through the opening head first. Both hit the canopy, which resisted the hard impact, then rolled down the smooth surface and flipped over the edge; they landed in a collection of bushes that broke their fall. Slightly winded Bond stood and helped Cherry to her feet as he gasped for air. There was a dull pain in his left ankle, but adrenalin dealt with that. He glanced around; the grenade detonated drawing his attention upwards. Smoke was billowing from the open window. There were no signs of the pursuing guards. He looked around his immediate surroundings; people were running away from the Acropolis in panic. Sirens could be heard in the distance. One of the fleeing pedestrians was Dr. Jeremy Billecart running across the Traverse Barla.

"Get to the car. You'll be safe once inside. There are a few questions I need to ask that Billecart chap". He handed Cherry the spare key, she started to protest, but Bond insisted, pushing her in the direction of the entrance to the car park. He noticed vulnerability in the girl that he had not seen before. It touched him. "Go: Now. Everything will be alright". He then set off in pursuit of his target.

Bond dodged vehicles and ignored their irate drivers, as they used their horns as a weapon of mass irritation, he entered Jardin Maréchal Juin, a small public garden crammed full of bright blooming Dianthus and carnations and sprinted down a small path that weaved in and out of the flowerbeds and weird sculptures. He didn't have time to appreciate the rock man; a pile of rocks held together by wire in the shape of a man, or the giant brass violin, both positioned in the shadow of La Tête Carrée. Billecart had been surprisingly nimble and fast, belaying his portly stature. He had pulled away and reached the National Theatre and Museum of Modern Art buildings: Two large imposing structures at the end of the park. The pain in Bonds ankle was beginning to slow him down. Billecart dodged the chaotic traffic on Boulevard Risso and seemed to gain extra speed when a tram slid into view on Boulevard Jean Jaures. The tram slowed and came to a halt at its usual stop. Billecart pushed his way on board near the front, not waiting for any of the passenger to alight. Bond pressed on through the increasing pain in his ankle and managed to clamber aboard the rear just as the doors were closing. The electric tram appeared to be new and consisted of six carriages. All were full, with standing room only. Bond ignored the ticket validation machine and began to push his way through the crowded carriage. He made his way to the second carriage and had eyes on Billecart when the tram came to a gentle stop across from the junction Allee Resistance ET Deportation. He wasn't sure what spooked Billecart, maybe he had spotted his pursuer cajoling his way through the carriage, but as soon as the doors slid open Billecart was off, like a spooked rabbit, running across the busy Boulevard into the _Coulée Verte_, "green corridor", which was officially known as the _Promenade de Paillon. _Bond followed close behind. The park covered nearly thirty acres and ran right through the heart of Nice. Originally there was a river that flowed through the area; The Paillon, a mountain torrent that ran down from its source high above Lucéram in the Southern Alps. It slashed its way through Nice on its way to the Mediterranean, separating the Old town from the new. The area was gradually filled in and built over, after a series of serious floods. A bus station and multi storey car park were built in the 1970's, with the area becoming very congested and a rather ugly. Both buildings were demolished in 2011 to make way for the park. The _Coulée Verte_ contained children's play areas. Lawns shaded by olive trees with paved walkways weaving their way through. Billecart and Bond had entered half way down where the large Miroir d'Eau, mirror of water had been constructed. The paved area was dotted with one hundred and twenty-eight water jets that randomly alternated between light gentle puffs of cooling mist to jets of high-pressure water that shot high in the air, pulsating to different heights and rhythms. During day light the water created a mirror effect on the paving; at night the whole area was lit by a multitude of spot lights giving it a mystical effect. Billecart ran straight through the middle as the pulsating waters danced around him. He was totally oblivious to being drenched. Bond followed, closing in on his prey. He could almost hear Billecarts laboured breathing as he managed to lash out with his right foot. His leather moccasin struck Billecarts left calf, tripping him. The man stumbled forward but remained miraculously on his feet. It was Bond that was wrong footed as his injured ankle gave way. The leather sole of his moccasin slipped on the wet surface, launching him face down on the puddle strewn paving. He pushed himself to his feet by sheer determination and continued his pursuit. The jets had switched to a fine mist illuminated by the spot lights creating a bright blinding fog. Bond could hardly see a meter in front of himself. He pushed forward and neared the edge of the Miroir d'Eau where the lights of Place Masséna began to burn through the fog. The seven multi-coloured resin statues that sat high on poles came into view. They were called "Conversations in Nice," and represented the seven continents. Each was illuminated with changing colours, to indicate a dialogue. Bond stepped from the park into the busy square that was bordered by 17th century Italian inspired red ochre coloured buildings, palm trees and stone pines. The large open area was bristling with tourists that congregated around the statue of the Greek God Apollo which dominated the southern end of the pedestrian area. He scanned the immediate vicinity in a desperate, futile attempt to locate the elusive banker. Billecart was nowhere to be seen. Bond cursed; he couldn't believe he'd allowed the man to escape. In his frustration he didn't sense the approaching Range Rover veer off the road and head directly towards him.

**0013**

**Fasten your seat belt Mr. Bond.**

Bond involuntary groaned as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. There was a smell and feel of leather and the distinct sound of rubber on tarmac. The feeling of motion confirmed that he was in a rapidly moving vehicle.

"I think he's coming around John". A man with a thick Manchurian accent announced. The man sat next to Bond on the back seat of a Range Rover. He was speaking to two men in the front. Bond was becoming more aware of his circumstance by the second. He opened his eyes just sufficiently to take in his surroundings. His vision was blurred and there was a definite throbbing in his head and his body ached from his ankle to his neck. He hadn't a clue what had hit him. A more immediate concern was the feeling that his hands were restrained behind his back with a plastic tie wrap.

"How many times do I have to tell you? No names. Give him a shot of that stuff in the case on the floor. That should keep him quiet until we get to Marseille and the boss arrives and we can get him out of the country". The man called John spoke calmly.

Bond felt the Manchurian shuffle forward as he bent down to pick the case up. Bond moved his wrists and felt the resistance of the tie wrap. He could just manage to feel the clasp of his Omega watch with the little finger of his right hand. The release button was slid one, two, three positions and then pressed. A razor sharp one-inch blade popped out of the clasp. Bond twisted his wrists and manoeuvred the blade against the plastic tie wrap applying pressure.

The Manchurian opened the small case and withdrew a syringe. It contained a clear liquid and was topped with a needle protected by a plastic cap. He removed the cap and flicked the syringe to dislodge any trapped air bubbles in the liquid. Bond could see through barely open eyes the liquid being expelled from the tip of the needle. He couldn't allow whatever drug it was to enter his body. He moved with greater exaggeration and groaned as though he was coming around. This movement allowed more pressure to be applied to his shackle.

The Manchurian satisfied there were no potential lethal air bubbles present, raised his hand and moved to stick the needle in Bonds bicep.

The tie wrap gave way. Bond moved with immediate explosive force, he smashed the Manchuria's hand away, pushing the needle into his captors' thigh. The content of the syringe was forced out in an instant. Bond followed up with a couple of bludgeoning blows of his elbow to the face. The man called John twisted in his seat pulling a Browning Hi-Power pistol from a shoulder holster under his jacket. Bond lunged forward before the pistol could be levelled at him. The pistol discharged punching a hole in the Range Rover roof. Bond grabbed at the thick blonde hair on Johns head with his left hand and violently pulled it against the headrest several times. His right hand grasped at the weapon. The driver, a stocky bald man, tried to free his own handgun whilst trying to maintain control of the vehicle. The Range Rover swerved across the motorway lanes smashing against the concrete central reservation. Bond was thrown to the opposite side of the cabin. Sparks flew as metal ground against concrete. The driver tried to recover the vehicles composure, but over compensated and threw it into an uncontrollable spin. A small Fiat was shunted out of the way as the heavy Range Rover spun once, then twice. The driver regained control. The man called John lifted his Browning once again. Just as his finger applied pressure to the trigger Bond lashed out with his left leg contacting Johns arm. The Browning exploded blowing a hole in the back of the drivers' skull, throwing him forward onto the steering wheel, his weight pressed down on the accelerator. The Range Rover shot forward. Bond, his face covered with Bone, blood and brain matter, was slightly concussed. The proximity of a handgun being discharged in such a confined space caused his ears to ring. The Manchurian tried to grapple with him, but the drug was taking affect and his limbs had turned to jelly. His limp body though restricted Bonds movement for a crucial couple of seconds.

Several vehicles were unceremoniously shunted out of the way as the Range Rover accelerated beyond 120 mph. A coach full of children returning from a school trip was side swiped. Sparks flew as metal clashed with metal. The occupants of the coach screamed as the Range Rover scraped its way along its full length. Other drivers rapidly moved out of the way, as they could see the oncoming carnage in their rear-view mirrors. Only the driver of an old tipper truck, fully laden with scrap metal seemed oblivious to the rapidly approaching vehicle.

The man called John was torn between regaining control of the vehicle and tackling Bond. He tried to push the driver off the steering wheel, but the dead weight was too much. He then turned his attention back to Bond. Keeping as much distance between himself and Bond he pushed his body against the dashboard; facing the rear of the vehicle he raised the Browning and took aim.

Bond realizing his attempt to escape had failed raised his hands in submission. The gap between them and the truck was rapidly narrowing.

"Fasten your seat belt". John angrily instructed, thinking some restraint was better than none.

"If you insist". Bond replied, seeing the looming rear of the truck.

Just as the buckle clicked into place the two vehicles collided. The Range Rover smashed into the considerably heavier truck. The impact dislodged the dead drivers' foot from the accelerator. The rapid deceleration assisted by the truck driver instinctively slamming on his brakes caused John to be thrown forward smashing is head against the windscreen knocking him unconscious.

Bond had braced himself and only received minor bruising to his ribs from the seat belt.

Both vehicles came to a rest. The smell of burning rubber from the trucks tires was thick in the air.

Bond stepped from the Range Rover. He could hear sirens rapidly approaching. The time on his watch was 20.15. He looked back down the motorway at a scene of shear devastation. Vehicles were strewn across all three lanes, discarded as though a snow plough had cleared a path through them; only a few were moving and most of those had the typical flashing lights of the emergency services. Bond looked around as he awaited the inevitable arrival of the local Police noticed a sign telling him that they were on the A8 heading towards Marseilles. He also caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Range Rovers side window, wiped the blood from his face with his jacket sleeve and adjusted his tie. He reached inside the vehicle and retrieved the Browning from the foot well, placing it down the back of his waist band. He checked his mobile phone for any missed calls. There were none; only a message from Cherry sent at 19.26. He opened it with a swipe of his finger;

"I'm ok. See you back at the hotel xxxx (Smiley face)". Bond smiled, mostly from relief.

As the lights and siren increased in intensity the distinctive grill and crystal affect headlamps of a Bentley Continental GT in deep Burgundy metallic paint slowly manoeuvred its way around the wrecked vehicles and pulled up next to Bond. The car was the latest model with sleeker intakes under the stretched grill that were reminiscent of the Bentleys of old. The all-aluminium body that sat on twenty-two-inch forged wheels was sharper with more pronounced curves than the previous models. It appeared longer and lower with muscular rear haunches tapering to the rear. The driver's double-glazed side window gently slid down. Bond could see the arm of a well-dressed man. He wore a shark skin medium grey suit and distinctive cocktail cuff of his white shirt protruded several inches beyond his jacket sleeve. The man tilted his head at an angle revealing a clean-shaven handsome face of about forty years old. He possessed intensely deep blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled, a slightly pointed nose and high cheek bones. His skin had a natural tan that indicated he was of Mediterranean origin and his hair was dark and closely cropped. Bonds nostrils were assaulted by the distinct scent of Floris Number 8; classic British cologne. The man spoke to Bond in a rather exaggerated Etonian accent; the kind of class-related inflection that people from privileged backgrounds seemed to absorb. Some would say "a plum in one's mouth". Bond recognised it all too well from his short time at the college.

"I say old boy, you look like you could do with a lift. Hop in". He motioned towards the opposite side of the car. "I think we can get out of here before any officials arrive". Not wanting to be tied down by hours of form filling, Bond accepted the invitation without hesitation. He quickly moved around to the far side of the Bentley, opened the heavy passenger door and slipped into the passenger seat. He allowed his fingers to caress the diamond pattern of the luxurious cream leather, a technique Bentley called diamond on diamond. It gave the effect of a floating quilted surface on the hide which was extremely soft to touch and felt as though it had been rubbed with butter, each seam was aligned and hand stitched. The aroma was quite intoxicating.

"My name is John Smith". The man introduced himself as he floored the accelerator and the brutal 6.0 litre W12 twin turbo engine propelled the two-ton car forward with a distant aloof whoomph. Its 8-speed gearbox effortlessly moved through the gears; accelerating them to sixty miles per hour in less than five seconds.

"Thank you. I'm James". Bond appreciated the extravagant interior and raw power of the engine. He was in a paragon of luxury, with acres of Koa wood veneer, soft embroidered quilted leather, highly polished aluminium fascia's and chrome-bevelled control dials that screamed old England. The fascia was inspired by the wings of the Bentley badge. The dashboard wings swept out from the central console and continued into the door trims, circling the occupants with a ring of wood and leather. The Centre console was finished in a milled _Côtes de Genève _metal design, inspired by that found inside high-end watches. The fit and finish of everything was a testament to the master craftsmen of Bentley and promoted an aura of invincibility.

This was Bonds type of car. He enjoyed the Aston Martin, but that was a company car, his office. The DB11 didn't elicit the shear unadulterated pleasure as this Bentley did and didn't seem as spacious either. He couldn't restrain a smile as the acceleration forced him into the firm scalloped seat. He didn't envisage having the same reservations of the Bentley as he did of the Aston in its ability to handle the deteriorating British roads either. He made a mental note to visit his local dealership the next time he had a couple of hours free.

The car sped past seventy miles per hour, urged on by its five hundred and eighty-two break horse power.

"You look like you could do with a drink and something to eat". Smith observed.

"I certainly could, and I know exactly the place". Bond was feeling hungry and he craved a hit of alcohol.

**0014**

**Negresco.**

The Hotel Negresco was built in 1912 and faces the sea on Nice's beachfront boulevard. Promenade des Anglais. The hotel had a staff to guest ratio of 2:1 and five concierges who belonged to the Les Clef d'Or society. The Negresco possessed an art collection that spanned five centuries and included work by Salvador Dali and Niki de Saint Phalle. All presented in the hotel lobby and shopping arcade. The shimmery demographics of Riviera money were as varied as the schools of shiny fish flitting beneath the waves in the sea across the promenade. A diminutive young Russian woman in a white lace romper sprayed herself liberally with expensive perfume in the bathroom while her hulking boyfriend with his wraparound shades and security entourage waited. A wedding party of Africans and African-Americans tripped through elaborately dressed, some in gleaming white linen and tapestry skull caps. Everywhere, there were women with freshly lacquered nails and sequins and lip-liner.

Bond and Smith were ushered into a glistening lobby by a white-gloved doorman dressed in a 19th-century uniform designed by Pierre Cardin. A crimson circular couch was lined with gold tassels, crowned with a regal bust, and lit by a crystal chandelier. Oil paintings hung from gilded rails behind the front desk, where well-heeled clientele, _bon viveurs_ registered. The Negresco's ballroom-sized main public space had a glass dome made in Gustave Eiffel's workshops and a French chandelier ordered by Czar Nicholas II for the Kremlin that never reached its destination due to the revolution of 1917, so it remained in France. The bellhops, hired for their youthful adorableness and beauty marks, wore red britches and white gloves.

The receptionist was a rather beautiful female, all-natural dark Mediterranean good looks. She wore a pencil-line navy skirt and fresh, crisp white blouse which complimented her 38-24-36 figure.

"Can I interest you in something?"

"I'm tempted to say yes immediately but I think I'd maybe have a look around first. Take a table for dinner perhaps". The receptionist lamented being on duty as she pointed towards the restaurant entrance.

The restaurant called "Chantecler" was recognized as one of the finest restaurants in Nice, the Michelin Star-rated dining room with Regency-style decor and 18th-century woodwork served fine cuisine. The chef, the famous Bruno Turbot was a Matisse of the kitchen whose palette of flavours painted culinary canvasses of perfect taste and balance, or so the _maître d'hôtel _enthusiastically announced. Both men were directed to a small table in the corner of the room. Bond sat on the cushioned chair; he repositioned the Browning between his thighs and gently placed a napkin over it.

The restaurant wasn't particularly busy; there were just a handful of diners enjoying the hotels hospitality. Eight British financiers talked business around a table, drinking heavily, but not appearing drunk. An elegant elderly French couple, his yellow cashmere thrown over his shoulders in the universal sign of Euro-maleness, studied the wine list carefully together.

Bond motioned towards the wine waiter. "A bottle of Bollinger…" he was cut short.

"You wouldn't mind if I ordered, would you?" John Smith smiled apologetically.

"Be my guest". Bond held his hands up in mock submission.

"Would you be so kind as to go and get a bottle of 2002 DP from your cellars and make sure it's served between ten to twelve degrees centigrade". Smith smiled at the waiter as he waved his fingers in dismissal. "I hate it when they over chill champagne. It deadens the flavours".

"2002 Dom Perignon; You have exquisite tastes Mr. Smith; especially when it's served at the right temperature for the vintage".

"Yes, such an excellent year. I'm glad you agree? There's an excellent acidity, which is quite remarkable and a consequence of the unusual heat of that year. I do hope you didn't mind me interrupting. I just can't abide Bollinger. "Bolly." He laughed "is so Pasay. Champagne of the English upper class consumed in immense quantities at Henley and Ascot; it's a shadow of its former self. An excessive degree of oxidation of ethanol pervades every cuvee leading to excessive acetaldehyde aromas of apple cider". He shuddered.

"I feel I must disagree. Admittedly the past few years have not been kind, the reluctance to use Sulfiscorbate is quite evident, but I was going to order the 2002 Bollinger "La Grande Annee". The 2002 has excellent acidity. I'm sure the aromas of sourdough toast and lemon zest would have been more to your liking. I would also recommend the rather excellent 1998 Vieilles Vignes Françaises, but each to their own. Everyone should discover the style that suits them". Bond countered.

The wine waiter appeared with the bottle of Dom Perignon. He expertly opened it without any fan fair, holding it firmly at a steep angle with his left hand he twisted the cork counter clockwise with his right. He firmly held onto the cork and let the bottle open with the gentlest of pops and then poured a small amount into Bonds generous tall flute. Bond was pleased that the restaurant served their champagne in a full-sized flute and not a coupe or the recent fashion for thin flutes. The traditional coupe tended to allow the champagne to warm to quickly and lose its bubbles. The trendy thin flute didn't allow the full olfactory experience; you couldn't appreciate the nose. Bond held the flute up and admired the light gold coloured liquid with its extra fine bubbles. He wafted it past his nostrils and took in the aromas of toasty bread, nuts and a distinctive floral overtone. He nodded his appreciation towards Smith as he took a sip. Dom Perignon has one of the world's most distinctive flavours, so he was pleasantly surprised by the uncharacteristically rich flavours of roasted nut and saltine crackers that lay under the primary flavour of citrus fruit. The flavours were expansive and broad, and the fine bubbles caressed his tongue like a silky mousse. The champagne was perfectly balanced with a flavour that lingered for a long time in his mouth; it was quite exotic.

"You appear to have made an excellent choice Mr. Smith. That's very friendly, very friendly indeed". Smith smiled and motioned for the waiter to fill their glasses and then ordered "Caviar: Beluga for two".

Both men enjoyed the salty fish eggs which were served with a selection of thin slivers of toasted bread and quails' eggs. Each perused the Papaya menu that was written in French, English and Russian, a nod to the oligarchs who have infiltrated the Côte d'Azur. They then informed the eager waiter of their choices

"I must say I've always preferred champagne made solely from the chardonnay grape". Smith announced as he placed a well-endowed sliver of toast and caviar in his mouth.

"Granted Bollinger is dominated by the pinot noir grape, but Dom Perignon is far from Blanc de Blanc champagne. It is an equal blend of fifty percent chardonnay and fifty percent pinot noir. If it is the product of the chardonnay grape you crave, I suggest you try Taittinger Comtes de Champagne Blanc de Blanc. That is the apotheosis of Champagne and in my humble opinion one of the most remarkable products of the chardonnay grape in existence. I suggest you look for the outstanding 1998 Comtes or the long-lived 96 as they are both medium-to full-bodied, dry, complex and possess incredible longevity". Bond was well versed in all aspects of champagne. He knew that chardonnay reached its greatest heights in the Champagne region and that it really shone, only when the climate was very cool; Champagne being about the coolest region where it can grow provided the ideal environment for the often-maligned grape variety with its chalky, limestone soil. He judged the Côte des Blanc, situated around the town of Epernay as the greatest area for growing Chardonnay in Champagne due to the soil being the chalkiest in the region.

"Blanc de Blanc champagne would have been an ideal before-dinner wine. It is perfect accompaniment to caviar, as it's never too heavy to obscure the delicate flavour of the fish eggs". Bond finished his lecture. He'd made his point. He placed the last piece of quail's egg and caviar endowed toast in his mouth.

"I'll bear that in mind". They were interrupted by the waiter delivering their main course.

Due to the enviable Mediterranean location and culinary influences introduced from North Africa, Northern Europe and the Orient, the diversity of fresh produce was showcased in the menu. Bond had selected Turbot Coco beans. The glazed fish was served on a bed of lightly warmed coco beans, shellfish and blanched sea vegetables, lightly sprinkled with lemon juice and fresh zest. A broth was ladled around the culinary island and finished with a generous amount of Lovage oil. Smith chose a specialty of the restaurant: Poached Brittany Lobster in Citronella Stock and Sautéed Croquettes of Crab Meat and Broccoli on a bed of Orange Sauce.

Bond absentmindedly adjusted his watch on his wrist. Smith noticed and commented.

"Omega Planet Ocean. I'm a Rolex Submariner man. The Bentley dealer gave me a Breitling with the car, but it's a little over bearing and who wants a distress beacon on their wrist watch for goodness sake? I find the Rolex to be more understated." He unclasped his watch and laid it on the table between them. It was a plain model with a stainless-steel bracelet and case and a black ceramic bezel. The black dial was embossed with the usual Rolex crown and name followed by Oyster Perpetual, which some falsely mistook for the model instead of detailing the case and self-winding movement that all models except the dressy Cellini and the deplorable Oysterquartz utilised. Submariner (the model) followed and four lines of text, indicating that the watch was COSC-certified (tested for precision and accuracy by the Contrôle Officiel Suisse des Chronomètres), this made it all the more desirable and expensive. Bond inspected the watch; something wasn't quite right. The luminescent hour markers that glowed Chromalight green in the subdued light of the restaurant were all present, a triangle for twelve o clock and the rectangle for nine o clock were interspaced by circles for the remaining hours. The sapphire crystal face had a raised Cyclops lens over the date window that occupied the three-o clock position. It was the six-o clock position that differed from the norm; it should have been marked by another rectangle, but this watch had been manufactured with two triangles. It was either a fake or a genuine watch with a rare manufacturing defect that would make it extremely sought after. Either way it was a handsome time piece.

"As long as it isn't a fake". Bond winced at the realisation he sounded tetchy.

"It isn't. I've had it authenticated by Rolex". Smith's eyes narrowed. Their sparkle slightly dimmed. "Some would say a Chinese fake Omega is probably as good as the "real" thing which arguably is just as much a fake, the only difference is that yours is made in Switzerland by Swatch." He spat the last word out with complete disdain. "It's the same as Bugatti, are you a car buff James?" Bond nodded. "Bugatti's were the creation of Ettore Bugatti, who incidentally was also a watch buff, related to the Breguet family. Well the cars vanished years ago but the name was bought by the VW group and was resurrected for a concoction which is astronomically expensive, goes like thunder, will wear through a set of very expensive tyres in about a week, and will almost certainly need a complete rebuild after thirty thousand miles. But no car buff worth their salt would ever regard these things as a true Bugatti's. It's simply a cynical marketing exercise designed to impress the gullible, and the cars will rarely, if ever be driven. Omega used to be an independent company making quite good reasonably priced watches. It was scooped up by the Swatch group in a fire sale after the "quartz crisis" as a marketing exercise that "positioned" them basically on "badge engineering" using the same movement and pricing based on their perception of how consumers would view the "quality". But unlike car buffs, watch enthusiasts seem to have fallen for this cynical exercise in marketing deception, just like you have".

"Your Rolex may be understated, but it's still a Rolex: Flashy. The choice of a watch is a very personal thing. I do a lot of diving and find the helium escape valve essential during decompression. The extendable fold over clasp on the bracelet is also handy for wearing the watch over a diving suit and if I have to be picky; I don't care for the Cyclops". Bond wonder why he was defending his choice of watch to a man he barely knew. His watch needed to be reliable, functional, and capable of being worn in a variety of circumstances and not be ostentatious. A Rolex often presented the wrong image of its wearer, one of an international playboy: An image not always appropriate for undercover work.

"As you say, it's a personal choice, but you are being coy James. That is no ordinary Omega is it". Bond shrugged his shoulders. "The untrained eye wouldn't spot it, which makes it even more impressive. You possess a rare thing; a smart watch that is almost undistinguishable from a premium automatic. That is not only rare but must have been incredibly expensive".

"It was a long service award and really isn't anything special. It tells the time, buzzes every time my phone rings and collects data such as my heart rate and blood pressure".

"How hard it must be working now? All that data in such a small device! Forgive my boring enthusiasm, but can you connect it to a laptop?"

"You mean to down load data? There's a cradle, but I've left it at the hotel".

"Tell me James. You mention long service. What is your profession?" Smith twisted the two front legs off the body of his lobster and bent the small pincer back and forth until it broke off. He then carefully pulled pieces of the shell away from the meat to keep the claw intact.

"Let's say I'm a trouble-shooter for a well-established British company. You may have heard of it Universal exports". He picked up his cutlery and prepared to devour the perfectly presented dish before him. He was ravenous.

"Let's not be coy. I've heard about Universal Exports. And know it is a front for MI6. How noble of you working for Her Majesty; I've heard the pay isn't particularly exceptional and you appear to be weary, tired."

"It's been a particularly tiring day". Bond spoke sourly.

"Do you think you are becoming stale James? Have you regrets about your chosen profession or is it loyalty to your country that keeps you going?" Bond refrained from answering. "I'm also a trouble-shooter in the "_export business_", but I have, shall we say, more republican sensibilities; my motivation is purely financial, and my allegiance is somewhat more eclectic and private; the highest bidder and all that. We could always use experienced operatives like you". Using a lobster shell cracker Smith broke into the large claw shell at its base. The man possessed great strength and performed the task with ease. He then used a stainless-steel skewer to pull out the meat.

"Regrets are unprofessional. I serve out of a sense of duty. Your choice is a little mercenary, but each to their own". Bond shrugged as his right hand gripped the Browning between his legs "I'm surprised our paths haven't crossed".

"Who says they haven't. If you've worked in Africa, the Balkans or Asia…" Smith let the sentence fade as he avoided Bond's look. He called towards the waiter to take away the remnants of the lobster claw.

"I spent a short time in the Balkans back in the Nineties, but my patch is Western Europe and the Americas. I once had dealings with a company called Billecart and Loxley that did have interests in Africa. Ever heard of them?" Bond lied to induce a reaction. It didn't work. Smith appeared more interested in his time in the Balkans.

"What part did you play in the Balkans?" Smith question carried more than a hint of venom. Had he hit a nerve?

"I carried out intelligence work for NATO during the Kosovo crisis. What did you do in the Balkans?"

"What did I do? That is a probing question James". Smith sighed and then appeared to make a decision. "I don't normally talk about it, but we clearly have a lot in common, so I will make an exception". He wiped lobster juice away from his clean-shaven cheek with his napkin. "I learnt my trade craft".

"What trade was that?"

"Killing James: Killing". Smith let the revelation sink in. There was no longer any need for pretence. The façade of the well clipped English accent was relaxed, and a distinct raw Eastern European inflection replaced it. "I was brought up in a two-story home in the Pofalici district of Sarajevo. I lived there with my father David who worked in a nearby forge. My parents had divorced when I was young. My mother, Teodora, was a career woman. She returned to Belgrade after they separated. She worked at the headquarters of RTS, the Radio Television of Serbia. I saw very little of her. You see her job was her life and she paid a horrible price for it. I stayed with my father, ultimately making nothing of my life, poor grades at school and a disappointing time in the Yugoslav Navy as a conscript. I was rotting away working in a super market and drinking heavily. The Civil war changed all that.

Like many residential districts in Sarajevo, our neighbourhood was a mixed community of Serbs, Croats and Muslims. There had never been any nationalist frictions. I had had nothing but good relations with my Muslim neighbours. In fact, we had been invited by the Herak family into their homes for Bajram, the Muslim festival, and we in turn had invited them each year into our home to celebrate the Serbian Orthodox Christmas. We were good friends. When Serbian forces surrounded Sarajevo in the spring, I decided to flee across a bridge in central Sarajevo into the Serbian-held district of Vraca. I wanted adventure; I wanted to fight so I left my father alone. He was 60. That was the last time I ever saw him.

After I crossed the bridge over the Miljacka River carrying a loaf of bread, which was a pre-arranged signal to the Serbian fighters waiting for me on the other side, my opinions began to change, especially about Muslims. I learned that they posed a threat to Serbians from the radio and television and in gatherings with other Serbian fighters, particularly the older generation; our discussions were steeped in Serbian folklore going back to the defeats by the Ottoman Turks in the middle Ages. Serbian political leaders and commanders told us that Muslims were planning to declare "an Islamic republic".

We were told that we would have to "ciscenje," cleanse our whole population of Muslims. The massacre Began with Looting" Bond listened quietly. Smith continued.

"I had been motivated by the urge to have things I never had before the war, including women, television sets and videos and foreign currency; fighters were encouraged to loot from Muslims' homes as we were only paid the equivalent of $6.50 a month.

The killing began when two Serbian fighters, Miroslav, Vlado and I entered a house in the village of Ahatovici. We had heard voices in the basement and went downstairs to demand valuables. There were three men aged between twenty-five and fifty; two old women and a teenage girl. One of the elderly women was sitting on a chair, and spoke to me, "Sonny, we don't have anything." I hit her on the head with my rifle, and she got up and pulled a wardrobe away from the wall, and there underneath it was what we were looking for. Five hundred German marks, about three hundred and twenty US dollars, plus a collection of gold bracelets, chains, earrings and rings. You see they all lie.

Our commander, Miro Vukovic, had described the operation in the village as "ciscenje prostora," the cleansing of the region; we were instructed to leave nobody alive. We shot the old women, it was quick; we are not barbaric. They were standing with their backs to me, so I opened fire. They didn't say anything; it was so fast. Two, three seconds, they were dead. But it was different for the men; they were of fighting age. Our commanders had warned us about unnecessary use of ammunition. During training we had been taken to a grassy plot one cold morning and shown how to wrestle pigs to the ground, hold their heads back with their ears and cut their throats". Smith ran the stainless-steel skewer with a chunk of lobster meat still attached across his throat. "Two of the men said nothing as they were tackled to the ground and had their feet held by Miroslav and Vlado whilst I cut their throats with my hunting knife. It was just a short cut, and they were dead immediately, just like the pigs. The last one was different, he pleaded for his life at the very last moment and told me his name; Osman. It made no difference. He was dead in two seconds, but that one instance has stayed with me. It has fried my conscience. I have pictures in my mind of many things I did back then and since. They return every night," Smiths face was cold, free of emotion. "I sleep, I wake up in a sweat, I sleep again, I wake up and smoke, and Osman is always there. I have dreamed many times of Osman saying: 'Please don't kill me. I have a wife and two small children".

"What of the teenage girl?" Bond enquired fearing the worst.

"We were young, and she was attractive. Seventeen if I remember; called Sabina. Lively, we each took our turn. I believe she thought if she pleased us, we would let her live. I drove her to the Zuc Mountains; she thought she was being released, right up to the point where I slit her throat.

You look horrified James. I'm sure you have witnessed many deaths and even caused them".

"Not horrified but saddened: The evil that men can do. I have never killed someone who was innocent though".

"Innocence is subjective. You exist in a world where drone strikes clinically remove a target and cause collateral damage or intelligence leads to air strikes on civilian targets. Are they not innocent?" Bond had clearly touched a nerve. "You have not had to fight savagely to survive. You have grown soft. I have witnessed twenty men from Donja Bioca, a Muslim village three miles northwest of Vogosca, being shot and incinerated in a furnace at a nearby steel plant. Some of the men were alive when they were thrown in to the furnace. Their screams also occupy my dreams".

"I've never raped anyone". Bonds grip tightened around the Browning.

"Come come James. Have you never persisted when a woman has said no?" Smith didn't wait for or expect an answer. "We were told that raping Muslim women was "_good for raising our morale_". It was widespread. Half the hotels tourists now visit in Bosnia and Croatia were used as brothels. I used to go every three or four days. You just picked up a key and went to a room. We had been told we could do anything with the women, but it was made quite clear we didn't have enough food to keep them. We were to take them away to a deserted place and not bring them back. That was widely interpreted as meaning kill them. Unsurprisingly there was always a fresh supply of women. Life is so cheap. I swore there and then that I would not be one of those wretched souls. I would be the hunter not the hunted.

Talking of female companionship; do you have someone special waiting for you at home?" Smith noted the absence of a wedding ring. Bond thought it was remarkable how Smith could change from horrific revelation to general conversation without appearing to realise.

"There is no one serious, but hopefully a young lady will be waiting for me when I return to my hotel".

"Where will that young lady be waiting for you?" Smith probed.

"It's nothing special. _C'est assez classy et assez bon marché_," Bond was deliberately vague describing the Reserve as rather classy and rather inexpensive. "Do you have someone special or do you intend to rape your way around the world?"

"James! I'm shocked. I have come a long way from those days. I re-invented myself as an English gentleman". The English accent returned. Bond thought of the hours he must have recited "_How now brown cow grazing in the green green grass_" to achieve such a parody of the English upper class accent. "I'm a man who enjoys the finer things in life, including women. Although I'm a girl in every port sort of man I'm afraid. I haven't found that one special person yet. My career has enabled me to do this and my career is based around reputation. I will do anything I need to do to maintain that; killing is second nature to me".

"I'll take that as a warning, but you'll have to excuse me if I don't heed it. I have to say I am grateful you came along when you did though. You saved me from a whole lot of red tape, but I'm now getting a bad case of indigestion". Bond moved the conversation away from female companions. He wanted this to end so he could get back to Cherry.

"It's my pleasure. You saved me from travelling to Marseille on some tedious business. This has been far more civilized. I'm sure those you had issue with will get what they deserve".

"I'm sure your men will regret it". Smith ignored the comment as he pushed back in his chair and stood offering Bond his hand.

"It's been educational sparring with you; professional to professional but I must go now, work to catch up on and I'm sure that young lady will be eagerly waiting for you. I do hope your indigestion doesn't spoil your evening. Maybe we can do this again. We could take a couple of my motorbikes out on the Corniches and you could show me what you're made of, give me an insight into your psyche".

"You own a motorbike?"

"Yes, several why?"

"No particular reason. I just heard the roads can be dangerous for bikers".

"They are dangerous only if you are not proficient. Can I offer you a lift?" Bond shook his hand but declined the offer.

"Aren't you going to leave a tip?" Bond curtly enquired.

"I don't believe in tipping. The employer should pay a fair wage. The only tip I will give is speaking colleague to colleague: If you find that we are on opposing sides; walk away". Smith turned to leave. He hesitated, reached inside his trouser pocket and retrieved a small USB memory stick. He placed it on the table in front of Bond. "I think you'll be interested in this. Consider it a thank you for the meal and if you're serious about your work I really would upgrade that Browning you borrowed". He glanced down towards Bonds lap and then turned and strolled out of the restaurant. The eight British financiers all smartly dressed and of military age stood up from their tables and walked out of the restaurant behind him. Bond noticed the distinctive outline of weapons under their designer jackets. He knew when to choose his battles and a busy hotel full of innocent tourists wasn't the place. He took a wad of Euros from his pocket and placed a substantial amount on the table and then made his way to the exit. He checked the location of the Aston through an app on his phone. It was still showing where they had left it, in the car park of the Acropolis. He walked determinedly, almost running, along the seafront on Promenade des Anglais heading towards the Baie des Anges. He crossed the road and entered Vieux Nice. He selected Cherry's number in his phone and let it ring several times before giving up. She had most likely taken a taxi back to Beaulieu and was probably still sleeping the day's excitement off. Bond strode uphill for ten minutes through the narrow-cobbled streets of the old town, with their tall medieval buildings that created vital shade when the sun was at its strongest. He then stepped out from the shadows cast by the street lights into a modern brightly lit open area. He waited whilst a tram passed on its way down to the Place Massena, crossed the road and entered the Promenade du Paillon for the second time that day. He walked through the oasis of green open space until the Acropolis loomed large in front of him. He took the lift down to the garage and located the Aston Martin.

Bond sat in the DB11. He inserted the memory stick into the USB port and switched the media system on. The screen came to life with an image from a hand-held camera, possibly a mobile phone. The light level was low, and the image shook as the camera man moved around the room. A woman sat in a high-backed office chair her wrists bound to the chairs arm rests with silver duct tape. She was clothed, but her shoes had been removed and her ankles taped to the chair's legs. Sweat soaked hair disguised her bruised and bloodied face. Dark eye liner stained her cheeks, carried by a stream of tears and she whimpered from swollen lips. A man stepped in front; he faced the woman with his back to the camera. Bond could only make out that his hair was short and dark, and he wore a dark suit, probably navy or black. The light just wasn't good enough to be precise. The man approached the woman, crouching in front of her. He removed a pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket and pulled each one snugly over his hands, stretching them until they formed a protective second skin. He placed his left hand on the woman's bare right knee and used his right hand to gently brush away her dark hair from her face. She looked directly at the camera. Although swollen and camouflaged with a mixture of blood and smeared cosmetics, Bond knew instantly that it was Cherry. The man spoke with an English accent, but the sound quality wasn't very good; the fingers of his left hand gently moving across her thighs, pushing up under her skirt.

"A woman of your age should be enjoying herself, not keeping secrets from bad men like me. Now tell me who you work for and why you have been investigating Billecart & Loxley".

"I don't know what you mean. Please ..."

His gloved right hand moved down to her clenched left hand and he pried open her index finger with relative ease. He held it firmly against her resistance and then jerked it upwards and back. The bone snapped causing her to buck and scream wildly. His left hand pressed down against her bare legs lingered between her thighs and then he stood up.

"The man you were seen with. Who is he and why are you both here"?

"He's my boyfriend". Cherry gasped "We're on holiday. Please believe me". She sobbed and looked directly at the camera as though appealing directly to Bond. Bonds heart sank.

The man turned, offering the hope of identification, but the camera momentarily zoomed in on the woman's face, before pulling back and focusing on the man attaching a long cylindrical silencer to the end of a pistol. As the man tightened the silencer, Bond noticed he wore a stainless-steel Rolex submariner on his left wrist, partially covered by the cocktail cuff of his shirt. Attire which wasn't wore by just anyone and pointed towards a man who took a more considered approach to his appearance. He instantly knew who that man was.

"My dear, there is nothing more certain than you will die if you do not answer these questions to my satisfaction. I will ask you again. Think carefully before you answer".

"Please..." A muffled shot rang out pushing the woman back in the chair. A dark crimson patch began to grow on her blue dress, between and below her breasts. Bond sharply inhaled. His eyes moistened.

"Did that hurt? I suspect it has punctured your lung, which means you don't have long to live if you don't receive help". The man could be heard calmly speaking off camera. Cherry's eyes bulged with pain, she could hardly breath. "I hope you now understand I am not a patient man and I am not playing a game. Now tell me did you copy any of the files on the laptop you stole?" The man walked towards Cherry; he let his gloved fingers brush the outline of her upper arm and shoulder, lingering at the base of her neck. "Did you copy any files?" His hand caressed her cheek, the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of her jaw. Cherry tried to speak.

"Please…" she gasped.

The gloved hand gripped her jaw and pulled her head back. There was a flash as an object moved across her exposed throat reflecting the light from the camera. The taught skin of Cherry's slender neck separated turning crimson. Blood then began to spill down her chest, soaking her dress. The man momentarily held her head, pushing it against his stomach. He lent forward and kissed her forehead and then released it. Cherry's red hair flopped lifelessly forward covering her face as her chin rested on her chest. The man walked toward the camera.

"I told her I wasn't a patient man. She wasn't going to say anything: Too well trained: Such a waste. Let's see what the man knows. I may have to try a different tact". The man could be heard saying as he wiped the old-style cut-throat razor clean with a rag before placing it on the table and picking up what appeared to be a mobile phone. His fingers moved across the screen. He then walked over to Cherry's slumped lifeless body, held her right hand and placed her thumb on the phone. Having released the security on the phone he swiftly tapped away on the screen. The time stamp on the video was 19.26.

The high-resolution screen went blank as the video ended abruptly. Bond was in despair, which quickly turned to fury. He'd seen death a thousand times, but this had shocked him to his core. He controlled his breathing to calm himself, slow deep breaths. He then made a silent pledge to Cherry; the man called John Smith was going to die.

He pressed the ignition button, the engine burst into life. He engaged the gears and then hesitated and pushed the gears back into park. Climbing out of the low vehicle he cautiously walked around to the rear. His fingers felt wetness on the metal body as he released the boot catch. He looked down at his blood-stained fingers and lifted the boot lid. His fears were coldly met. Cherry's body was curled in a tight foetal position where she had been forced in to the cramped space. Her eyes were wide open staring directly at him. He couldn't look into her once beautiful eyes, he remembered they were so full of the excitement of life but were now glass, cold and empty. Looking away he caught a glimpse of the crystal pendant hiding in the crumpled folds on the neck of her blood-soaked dress. He clinically removed the memory stick, it had been damaged, but he still placed it in his pocket, Q might be able to work his magic. He then closed both hands around Cherry's left hand. It was ice cold, hard. Leaning forward into the boot he placed his lips on her forehead, He could still smell the aroma of Noomi Basra.

"I'm so sorry". There were no other words.

**0015**

**Trade is everything.**

Rain hit the window with force blurring Bonds view of the rooftops across London. He stood in M's office, his mind in another place. Cherry's funeral had taken place earlier that day, fortunately before the rain came. Bond had observed from afar, not wanting to aggravate an already sensitive situation. M comforted Cherry's mother, his face emotionless. Neither man had spoken to each other, the silence had continued as they waited in his office. The door opened and a tall thin man with short grey hair and a stern demeanour walked in. Nigel Fairfax, the foreign sectary of State was not a happy man.

"Well that was a complete and utter balls up. We not only have the French breathing down our necks for having armed agents running amok, but we've also got the DRC wanting to know why we've being investigating their finances. To top it all off, the whole thing was an unofficial operation. What were you thinking M?"

"Sir any failing in the mission is totally my fault..." Bond tried to intervene.

"You can keep quiet. You're bloody lucky you still have your freedom, let alone your job. In fact, both of you are lucky that the PM requires your attendance in Singapore or things would have been very different. We are in a whole new game now; old principles are no longer a luxury we can afford. Trade is everything. We can no longer risk upsetting potential partners like the DRC or China. You could easily have gone the same way as David Eyre; He's now spending more time with his family after his naive attempt at gunboat diplomacy against China. The man practically declared war! He obviously didn't appreciate that China is the fastest growing market for UK exports and the UK's second largest trading partner outside the EU; a relationship which could open access to markets worth around £100 billion over five years; even more if they link up with Russia's Eurasian Economic Union. This is the new reality. Even the opposition have grasped that. They feign horror at the notion of entertaining the President of the United States, our closest ally, whilst greeting Xi Jinping with open arms. Principles are a fickle thing".

"We turn a blind eye to covert invasions, violations of citizens' rights and the undermining of our way of life. So, we can buy a cheap Huawei". M's patience was running out.

"In relation to China, I think we have set out areas where we have concerns – such as around cyber-intrusions. But it is also a country with which we have a strong and constructive relationship. We may want to project the illusion that we are still a global power, but now we have left the EU we must pick our battles with a greater sensitivity; the saying there is safety in numbers has never been truer. Anyway, nothing has really changed Russia and China have pushed the limits before and they have denied everything and agreed to nothing. The West has protested, but nothing really changed. Our new approach is not even new; it's something we've been doing with the Saudi's for years. Everyone must understand; It has taken the effort of our entire diplomatic service to convince China that we both must keep the larger picture in mind and maintain the golden era of Sino-British relations, even if that means turning a blind eye to the litany of human rights abuses. Far from putting a stop to Xi's geopolitical bullying in the Indian Ocean, the only thing Eyre did was to torpedo our trade negotiations. As for the incident on the Riviera; France will come around after making their voice heard, but we now have to do a whole lot of work with the Congo to repair the work we started with President Kabila and have continued with President Adoula". He hesitated and then continued venting his frustration. "We even have retired Generals, who should know better, going to the press and speculating we will be involved in a war in Africa in the near future. Don't they realise how hugely politically damaging that can be; something I wish you had considered before authorizing your little foray in the South of France M".

"We haven't analysed all the intelligence yet..." M started to explain.

"Five have now taken over this investigation". Fairfax cut him short. "Hopefully they will be a little bit more diplomatic and consider our vested interests. I trust all the intelligence gained has been handed over?"

"Of course it has, Sir". Bond lied as he thought of the folded piece of paper in his inside jacket pocket and absentmindedly felt the memory stick in his trouser pocket.

"This incident could have cost the country dearly. I do hope you realise that? The bloody French and Belgium's are now questioning the validity of Adoula's election. That will not help our cause if it is overturned and someone less in tune with our vision is put in place.

Christ, I need a period of gardening leave". The Foreign Sectary spun on his heels and stormed out of the room.

"The cost weighs heavy on my mind." M spoke just loud enough for Bond to hear. "They really are going to brush this under the carpet". He spoke more to himself than Bond. "You are excused 007. Please close the door when you leave".

"Q. I hope you are well". Bond put his arm around his Quartermaster and hugged him. Both were stood in an elevator travelling down to Q's basement office.

"What do you want 007?"

Bond reached inside his trouser pocket and produced the damaged memory stick.

"Can you see if you can retrieve any information off this?" Bond handed Q the faux crystal stick.

"Should this have been handed over to MI5?"

"No". Bond paused. "It's personal. It was the property of a lady".

"I'll see what I can do". Q hesitantly placed it in his top pocket. He wasn't convinced Bond was telling the truth about whether it should have been handed over to MI5. The elevator doors slid open, he turned to leave.

"Before you go". Bond placed a hand on Q's shoulder and pressed the door close button. The metal doors slid shut. "What do you know about tantalum salt?" Q looked blank. "In relation to a nuclear device". Bond clarified.

"Oh, you mean a Tantalum salted bomb: A doomsday bomb".

"Do I? I suppose I must".

"The term "salted" derives from the mediaeval practice of spreading salt on conquered lands as a curse rendering the soil unable to host life for years to come. A salted bomb refers to a highly immoral weapon; in my opinion, one that should never be developed or built. The idea was proposed in 1950 by the Hungarian-American physicist Leo Szilard".

"He was one of the Manhattan project scientists, wasn't he?" Bond recognised the name from the group of scientists who produced the first atomic bombs.

"Yes 007. His proposal was not a serious one for a weapon mind you, but an attempt to point out that it would soon be possible in principle to build a weapon that could kill everybody on earth. He warned that such weapons, if deployed, could wipe out humanity by producing enough fallout to irradiate the entire surface of the planet. These bombs would use heavy metals such as tantalum and cobalt to release a cloud of radioactive isotopes and spread them over a large area to render it uninhabitable. The theory proposed a similar reaction to a conventional nuclear device, but instead of a fissionable jacket around the secondary stage fusion fuel, a non-fissionable blanket of a specially chosen salting isotope would be used, cobalt-59 in the case of a cobalt bomb or tantalum 181 for a tantalum device". Q became enthused and started elaborating with his arms. "The theory is that this blanket captures the escaping fusion neutrons to breed a radioactive isotope that maximizes the fallout hazard from the weapon rather than generating additional explosive force and dangerous fission fallout from fast fission of U-238. Variable fallout effects can be obtained by using different salting isotopes. Gold was proposed for short-term fallout calculated in days, tantalum and zinc for fallout of affecting months and cobalt for a long-term affect resulting in years of contamination. To be useful for salting, the parent isotopes must be abundant in the natural element, and the neutron-bred radioactive product must be a strong emitter of penetrating gamma rays. To design such a theoretical weapon a radioactive isotopewould be needed that can be dispersed worldwide before it decays. Such dispersal would take many months to a few years so the half-life of Co-59 is ideal. It creates fallout 150 times more intense than that seen for traditional nuclear bombs".

"So why use Tantalum?" Bond enquired.

"A jacket of 181Ta, irradiated by the intense high-energy neutron flux from an exploding thermonuclear weapon, would transmute into the radioactive isotope 182 Ta with a half-life of 114.43 days and produce approximately 1.12 MegaelectronVolts of gamma radiation, significantly increasing the radioactivity of the weapon's fallout for several months". Bond raised his right eyebrow in frustration.

"114.43 days?" The elevator doors opened, and Bond again pressed the button to close them.

"I'm boring you aren't I". Q adjusted his glasses, nervously pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

"You never bore me Q but do try and keep it simple and no need to be as precise".

"Isotopes of cobalt can be radioactive for decades, whereas Tantalum fallout can remain lethal for several months before decaying, militarily useful radiological weapons would use local, as opposed to world-wide contamination, and high initial intensities for rapid effects. Prolonged contamination is undesirable. In this light tantalum is possibly better suited to military applications than cobalt".

"You inferred that no one has produced such a device".

"The whole process is extremely complex and fortunately there is no evidence that any salted bomb has been tested in the atmosphere, although the US did detonate a "dirty bomb" in an open field in 1953. That was not a nuclear device, but a conventional explosive packed with thirty kilograms of Tantalum. It released a lethal dose of gamma rays over the target area".

"A "salted bomb" remains in the realms of fantasy and a dirty bomb a terrorists dream".

"Yes, except for the UK testing a one kilo-tonne cobalt bomb underground at the Tadje site, Maralinga in Australia in 1957, which was deemed a complete failure and never repeated. Considering the ready availability of conventional nuclear warheads, it is considered very unlikely any special-purpose fallout contamination weapon would ever be developed".

"That's nice to know. So, the Chinese aren't stockpiling Tantalum for such a device".

"I doubt it 007". Q spoke re-assuredly and then turned and began to walk through the open elevator doors. He hesitated and looked back towards Bond "I'd be very concerned if they were".

**0016**

**Churchill and Tallulah**

The oversized monogrammed ice cube resisted its natural disposition to melt as it floated in a tumbler half full of Churchill's Courage, a blend of butter washed Woodford Reserve bourbon, maple syrup, white port and vanilla bitters. Bond stared at it, its sheer size helping it defy the laws of physics. He didn't really want the drink, but it had become a habit; one that he was becoming increasingly dependent upon. He removed the superfluous decoration from the edge of the tumbler and placed the skewered dried orange slice and small berry shaped physalis, both dusted with icing sugar, on a neatly folded napkin and then took a sip of the buttery cocktail. The ice cube clinked against the tumbler, the noise amplified in the sedate surroundings. Bond took in the room as he slouched in a leopard print armchair. The Rivoli Bar was hidden deep within the Ritz hotel, to the right of the main lobby, behind the mirrored walls of the "Long Gallery". It wasn't his usual drinking hole; he preferred the bar in the Dukes hotel off St James's palace, where potent martinis could be consumed. This bar was full of tourists and ridiculously wealthy regulars. The hotel had even relaxed its draconian dress code by allowing jeans and not insisting gentlemen wear a jacket and tie. The change made the bar less stuffy, but also endowed it with a lesser sense of exclusivity and set the bar at odds with the rest of the hotel. The bartenders, at least, maintained a sense of occasion, wearing their starched white jackets and performing their duties extremely professionally behind the small onyx marble bar. The ambiance was opulent art deco, harking back to the glamour of a bygone age, with glossy camphor wood walls embellished with copper reliefs and illuminated lalique glass inserts originally made for the Orient Express train; Murano glass chandeliers suspended from scalloped ceiling domes provided soft lighting that reflected off the copious amounts of gold leaf. At each end of the room were gold and copper silver bas reliefs inspired by the famous Yugoslav sculptor Mestrovic. Bond wasn't sure of the merits of the original Tamara de Lempicka painting that was hung in front of him. It wasn't to his taste.

Eve Moneypenny pushed her way through the revolving door and walked towards Bond across the art deco designed rug that covered the polished bamboo floor.

A waiter enquired whether the lady would like a drink.

"I'll have the Tallulah please". Moneypenny draped her overcoat around the back of her chair and sat down.

"Sorry I'm late James. M's understandably in a bit of a mood. He's taken himself off for an early lunch at Rules".

"It doesn't matter. We have all the time in the world. I've always thought Mondays are hell, but today beats them all". Bond was in a dark mood and mumbled his words as he took another sip of his drink.

"Oh, a Physalis; do you mind? I adore them" Moneypenny noticed the discarded fruit.

"Be my guest". Bond wasn't really interested. "It's a good job I have perfect hearing though". Moneypenny ignored the strained attempt at humour, parted the papery husk and bit into the orange coloured berry; savouring the subdued sweet and sour flavour.

The waiter approached and placed the Tallulah on the table in front of them. It was presented on a silver tray. The drink, a mixture of Soshu Japanese spirit, jasmine pearl tea, Cinzano Bianco, geranium essence and topped off with Piper Heidsieck champagne was served in an old perfume bottle and was poured, with great theatrical flourish by the waiter, into a black glass stiletto purposely made by Christian Louboutin. The cocktail was inspired by the husky voiced actress Tallulah Bankhead who, on arriving in London in 1951, celebrated the occasion by drinking champagne from her shoe. Bond could hardly contain his bemusement at the shear spectacle.

"This is all very irregular James". Moneypenny retrieved a brown card folder from her oversized handbag and placed it on the table. "I thought it best to go old style instead of leaving a digital footprint: For your eyes only. James". She said conspiratorially. Bond picked up the folder and flicked through its contents.

"Irregular just like your Tallulah? So, we believe an agent of the Chinese Military Intelligence known as the "Blacksmith" has a contract to kill Adoula and that person is the man called Smith?" He looked at a blurred photograph of a soldier in Chinese uniform. The large brimmed uniform cap prevented positive identification. "I've heard there is a very proficient assassin in the pay of the PRC. Reports refer to the agent as Tiějiang which I believe translates to Blacksmith, but Smith was Eastern European masquerading as English. Not Chinese".

"Intelligence indicates the Chinese are increasingly using the services of mercenaries as they spread their influence further afield. The man you were in contact with in Nice. The man who killed that poor girl and this Blacksmith appear to be the same person. He has disappeared, but we strongly believe he will try again when Adoula attends the conference in Singapore". Moneypenny shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. She had been expressly instructed by M not to discuss the case with 007.

"Then I will get to him first".

"James, the new Sectary of Defence has categorically stated that you are to attend Singapore in only a diplomatic role and only because your attendance has been requested by President Adoula. Your operational status has been revoked. You are not to become involved in any operation. I hate to tell you like this, but I thought it better coming from me before you receive notification by secure email in the next couple of hours. 0011 has been assigned to find and eliminate the Blacksmith."

Bond sighed; he'd suspected revocation of his 00 status and license to kill was inevitable. He downed the remainder of the Churchill's courage, he needed it.

"If that is the case, then I have no option but to offer my resignation. When I have finished being a promotional poodle for the PM, I'm out". He sounded like a petulant child as he slammed the tumbler down on the table. The service had been his life. His decision wasn't an easy one, possibly a rash one, but he had become emotionally drained over the past few months. He knew his mind wasn't in the right place. He needed to be emotionless, numb to the death around him. A cold blunt instrument, oblivious to the consequence of his actions, but yet the death of the child soldier, Broadhead and then poor Cherry had had a debilitating affect upon him. He knew that his serviceable life span would eventually come to an end and he would be lucky to live to see that day. That day had come, but he didn't feel lucky. Moneypenny reached across and held his hand, squeezing it gently. She glanced as his tumbler, empty but for the defiant ice cube.

"Like Churchill in his hour of need, you will find the courage to continue. Take your time before making that final decision James. Enjoy Singapore; I've heard it's beautiful. Enjoy not being on duty. I've booked you on the evening flight to Dubai. You'll have a few hours there before joining M on the onward flight to Singapore".

"Why not a direct flight?" He sounded more abrupt than he had intended.

"I shouldn't be telling you this, but I know you will do the right thing. Jeremy Billecart has just paid for a suite in the hotel Burj Al Arab in Dubai". Moneypenny did not need to say anymore.

**0017**

**Burj Al Arab**

Dr Jeremy Billecart liked golf, it was his pleasure. The one thing he enjoyed lavishing ridiculous amounts of his hard-earned cash on. He claimed his handicap was four but had yet to produce a signed scorecard as proof. The legitimacy of which was further put in doubt by his propensity to cheat. He had been known to place a ball just feet from the pin that he had never hit. "Ahhh, the men I play with cheat all the time. I have to cheat to keep up with them." He would argue. His main problem, if he was forced to analyse his own performance, was his short game. Pitching and putting were the shots that always turned a good round into a mediocre one. He'd taken the opportunity to improve this aspect whilst visiting Dubai. The visit was purely pleasure. After his close shave in France he needed to take time out and let the dust settle. The whole situation was getting out of hand. He'd no idea who his pursuer was; he was only grateful that he'd managed to hide amongst the tourists in Messina Square. He was further relieved when the Range Rover ploughed into the man and the driver carried him off, presumably to hospital. His partner David Loxley had suggested he lie low for a while. In fact, it was more like insisted. The trouble with Jeremy Billecart was that he had no idea how to lie low, so a golfing holiday in Dubai seemed a perfect distraction from all the stress. The company's recent deals had made both men extremely wealthy; wealthy enough to afford a $22000 per night suite in the Arabian tower, the Burj Al Arab. The hotel dominated the nearby Jumeirah beach. Standing three hundred and twenty-one meters high on its own off shore artificial island, connected to the mainland by a gently curving causeway. The hotel was built in the shape of the billowing sail of a traditional Arab dhow, a nod to the nation's seafaring heritage, thousands of which could be seen plying up and down the Arabian Gulf every day. The iconic symbol offered ostentatious levels of opulence and favoured style over function. All of which delighted Billecart. He was still revelling in the fact that he had been transferred from the airport in a gleaming white Rolls Royce Phantom when he presented himself to the Titleist golf ball that was nestled in the white Arabian sand of the practice bunker. He looked up and adjusted his cap that offered shade to his eyes from the intense sun; the outline of the Burj Khalifa, the world's tallest building could be seen shimmering in the distance. Sweat was rolling down his back. The temperature was touching thirty-five degrees centigrade, and it wasn't even nine in the morning. He firmly gripped his Taylor made sand wedge to give him maximum control and adjusted his position, so his sternum drew a parallel line with the ball, his body aimed slightly ahead. He placed his feet firmly in the sand, close together and parallel with each other pointing towards the ball. His golf instructor had told him that chipping the ball was a more of a strategic move than a regular shot and should only be employed when truly necessary. Did the situation really warrant a chip? Well he was in a bunker, albeit a shallow one, so yes, he was satisfied with his decision. Billecart reminded himself that the swing should come from his full upper body, and not just from the wrists. His feet and legs should remain stable; always the arms were to be kept back and the chest up. He looked at the flag flapping in the light breeze and then concentrated on the ball. The club lifted and was then swung downwards. He opened his hips dispersing the exertion through his upper body and taking the strain away from his wrists. The initial strike was perfect, both the downward strike and upward scoop was achieved in a single, fluid motion that sent the ball flying a short distance in the air. It bounced on the artificial baize and trickled a couple of meters to the left of the flag. Further off target than Billecart had desired. He'd arched his chest which had resulting in a skewed chip that had changed the direction of the club as he'd swung. Billecart swore with frustration and then immediately apologized to the local bodyguard he had employed, who had been standing patiently, melting in the increasing heat whilst his employer had taken a life time to take the shot. Billecart had been reluctant to apply the full force that had been required because he had been afraid to send the ball out of bounds. Out of bounds wasn't a foray into the long grass, as normal, but a two-hundred-and-ten-meter drop into the ghostly wash of the Arabian Sea below. The practice green formed part of the inverted cone that was suspended on the side of the Burj Al Arab. The large green baize covered circular surface primarily acted as the hotels Heli-pad but was occasionally converted to provide one of the world's most exclusive and expensive putting greens. Even at such a height the wind was only moderate, which did nothing to temper the intense heat. Billecart wiped the sweat from around his neck as he exchanged his sand wedge for his mallet shaped putter. Before approached the ball, he couldn't resist peering over the edge of the circle. A safety ring with netting, set level with the floor was all that prevented him falling an awfully long way down. After satisfying his curiosity he returned to the ball and studied its position in relation to the hole. The flag had been removed by his bodyguard. Even though the baize was virtually flat he'd always been told to aim at an imaginary hole two feet beyond the actual hole so that enough energy was applied to push the ball over any undulations. All ten digits were placed on the putting shaft by sliding his right hand down the shaft. It was the right hand that controlled the stroke and therefore preventing his left hand pushing or pulling the putt left of the hole. His grip was tight. He stood feet apart, the body tilted at the waist so that his shoulders were parallel with the ground and eyes directly over the ball. His whole body was positioned along a line square to the hole. The sole of the putter was perfectly level with the ground as he commenced the stroke. The putter was slightly lifted to ensure it didn't catch the floor on the back swing and follow through. A feeling of tension invaded his body as he double checked the balls intended path. Tension was the enemy of the short game. He took a moment to relax and then reset his starting position. Both arms hung naturally from the shoulders with both palms facing each other, perfectly level with each other. He removed his left hand out of the stroke by placing it at the top of the grip enabling his right palm to swing pendulum-fashion towards the hole. Using his right shoulder, the club was taken straight back and through. The ball trundled along the artificial grass and dove into the hole. Billecart finished with a confident follow through and punched the air in satisfaction; emitted a loud whoop. Someone began clapping. It certainly wasn't the bodyguard. Billecart looked towards the noise, irritated by the intrusion. This was his exclusive moment. A man stood at the top of the steel staircase that gave access to the Heli-pad. He was tall, slightly tanned, and athletic in build with short cropped dark hair. He wore a white short sleeved cotton shirt over light grey trousers and black leather moccasins. His eyes were hidden behind aviator style sunglasses. He continued clapping as he walked slowly towards Billecart. The bodyguard moved to intercept but was brought to his knees with a swift punch to the oesophagus. Billecart thought the man looked familiar; he just couldn't place where he had seen him before. Whoever he was, he looked angry and intent on doing harm. Billecart raised his putter and held it as though it were a baseball bat.

"Don't come any closer". He nervously commanded.

"If I were you; I would put that down". The man reached behind his back and produced an automatic pistol fitted with a short silencer.

"What do you want? I have money". He placed the putter on the floor and motioned towards the wallet in his rear pocket.

"You are Dr. Jeremy Billecart, joint owner of the investment bank Billecart and Loxley?"

"No". Billecart lied and then noticed the pistol move in his direction. "Sorry, yes that's me".

"That's better. It's always best to be honest. Now I'm going to get straight to the point. You and your partner have been buying up shares in Tantalum mines around the world for the Chinese to destabilize the UK governments' efforts in securing peace in the Congo". James Bond removed his sunglasses and looked Billecart straight in the eyes.

"I can't discuss our clients…" Bond stepped forward and picked up the discarded putter. He pointed it at Billecart and prodded the big man in the chest, pushing him backwards towards the edge of the Heli-pad. "Well, maybe on this occasion I can make an exception. We have had dealings with the Chinese regarding the Democratic Republic of Congo, but they haven't been buying the shares in the mines; we were instructed to buy them for President Adoula by the British Government". Bond pushed him again with the putter. "It's true". He pleaded. "We've been facilitating contact between the government through their bank Flemings and the DRC; initially Kabila and then later Adoula. He'd been sent to London to finalize the arrangements just before he was kidnapped. The whole deal was surrounded in secrecy, technically illegal. In return for the shares in the mines Adoula was going to look favourably on any trade deal".

"If I was to believe you, and that is a big if. What's the link with the Chinese?" Even though Bond suspected there was truth in what Billecart was saying, the use of Flemings Bank in clandestine transactions was not widely known; he again prodded him with the putter, pushing him nearer the edge.

"The Chinese have been heavily investing all over Africa, but the Congo under Kabila was proving resistant to their charms. He distrusted Beijing's true intensions. Feared they were colonizing Africa through the back door. We were asked by a General Zhao Shangzhi to broker a deal with the rebels in the province of Kivu. China wanted an increase in their supply of Tantalum, so we arranged a supply to be fed via Rwanda through our network of contacts, therefore circumnavigating the restrictions the US had introduced around so called conflict minerals. The deal was a good one until Adoula came to power and then the rebel leaders started to get greedy. I've had one hell of a week!"

"All highly illegal". Bond already knew much of this from what he had seen on Billecarts lap top, but the link with the British Government was new and disturbing. Q had not yet managed to recover all the information from the damaged memory stick. Was this the information that Cherry had tried to tell him about before they had left the Acropolis: The thing that had spooked her so much?

"We've never claimed to be Angels, just business men trying to make it in a brutal world. Your government is beginning to understand that".

"They also understand the need to tie up loose ends". Bond shoved the putter hard against Billecarts chest pushing him to the edge of Heli-pad. He desperately struggled to maintain his balance. A further nudge with the putter tipped him literally over the edge. Billecart frantically attempted to grasp at the putter, but Bond coldly lifted it out of reach.

"We work for the same people…" The big man let out a scream as he tumbled backwards: Falling. Bond stepped to the edge and peered over looking down at the panic-stricken man wildly thrashing his limbs about, caught in the safety net, half a meter below.

"That was an extremely dangerous thing to do. Who the hell are you?" Billecart was experiencing a strange mix of petrified fury.

"Bond, James Bond". Bond crouched and offered Billecart his hand, something the terrified man eagerly accepted; he used all his strength to pull Billecarts heavy body off the netting.

"Now let's continue this conversation in more comfortable surroundings. You're going to tell me everything". Bond instructed. Billecart just nodded.

"I have to say I told Kovac not to harm the girl. She should never have been hurt. I was shocked to hear of her death". Billecart was oblivious to his slip up, but Bond instantly realized. How did he know about Cherry and that name Kovac, Serbian for Blacksmith cemented the link between Smith and Billecart. Rage overcame him. He spun around and with all his might he pushed Billecart back over the edge: This time with such force that the man was sent flying up and over the safety ring. Any scream was lost in the wind as he plummeted downwards, arms and legs flapping in what appeared to be a vain attempt to fly. Bond looked down and resisted the urge to shout "Four"; it felt like an eternity before Billecarts body plunged into the still waters below. He tossed the putter over the edge, turned and replaced his sunglasses.

"I think you could call that a birdie". Bond muttered to himself, his voice completely devoid of emotion. He selected the phone option on his watch and spoke into it. Within two minutes a yellow and blue Eurocopter EC135 had swooped up from below the Heli-pad and was hovering meters away from him. The helicopter manoeuvred into position and set down with its skies straddling the sand filled bunker. Bond strode over, remembering to crouch under the rotating blades, climbed through the open door and fastened himself into his seat. The pilot then increased the throttle lifting the helicopter, drifting it sideways away from the hotel and then rapidly descended at a steep angle, skirting the coast in the direction of the Dubai International Airport.

**0018**

**Dreams of death**

_The sweet smell of petrichor was a familiar one for anyone who lived in rural Africa,; the term was coined by two Australian scientists from the Greek words Petrus for rock and ichor meaning the fluid flowing through the veins of the gods: rain soaked into the soil, freeing botanical molecules that had been trapped by clay and rock – volatile essential oils that rose to the surface and then carried on the wind that rolls out across the ground from thunderstorms._

_Corporal Sean Broadhead sat next to Bond. Both sat on top of a hill overlooking the African plain. The sun was large and rising on the horizon. It was going to be another hot day. Broadhead reached inside his left breast pocket of his combat fatigue and pulled out a green plastic soldier. The soldier was about two inches long and represented someone aiming down a rifle. If he had to guess Bond thought the toy represented a British parachute regiment squaddie circa Nineteen Seventies. The rifle was a copy of a FN FAL used by the British military until the mid-Nineteen Eighties. He took a deep breath. The petrichor was tainted by a distinct smell of Sulphur._

"_My father bought me this as a youngster. I had about a dozen. Most of them became casualties of war; mauled and chewed beyond recognition by Rusty our pet Jack Russell". Broadhead smiled "I rescued this one and I've passed it onto my own son; Daniel. He makes me take it on operations, as good luck. He'll always bring me home". Broadhead passed the toy soldier to Bond, who accepted it. Held it in the air and studied it. The smell of Sulphur grew stronger. The heat from the sun intensified as the sun rose in the East and set in the West in mere seconds and repeated the process repeatedly. Darkness descended but the heat remained, and the smell of Sulphur increased. Bond held the soldier and it began to melt, the molten plastic burning into his fingers. Yet he still held onto it; tightly._

"_Make sure he is returned to Daniel". Sean Broadhead spoke his entire body engulfed in flames. Only his eyes appeared to be unaffected by the intense heat. He reached out and touched Bond on his shoulder the flames starting to singe his fatigue. Bond stood and turned to run away, but his path was blocked by six kadogos, the Swahili term for little ones. Half a dozen child soldiers proudly stood in his way, their bodies riddled with bullet wounds. Some were missing limbs, and all were covered in thick dried blood._

"_Vous êtes venu pour aider." __They all spoke in unison "You came to help"._

"_Yes James. You made a promise" Bond turned away from the children. Cherry stood next to him, the front of her dress was stained crimson red. She leant forward, touched his burning shoulder and whispered in his ear. "You said you would protect me dammit. I was falling in love with you James". _

"Sir; we will be landing in 20 minutes. I need you to put your seat upright". The stewardess gently touched Bonds shoulder and woke him from his nightmare. M was already awake and was looking out of the window as the Singapore airlines Airbus A380 approached the runway of Changi airport.

The city state of Singapore lies at the tip of the Malay Peninsula, one hundred miles south of Kuala Lumpur and separated from the mainland by the straits of Johor. Its position at the base of the Malacca strait sees that almost all traffic between the Suez, Middle East and India heading to or from China, Japan and Korea pass by, making the port of Singapore one of the busiest in the world. Once he had come around Bond reflected on the first time, he visited the island. He'd initially had a preconception that Singapore was some sort of mysterious, dangerous, semi-uncivilized city someplace in the Far East.He quickly discovered his impressions could not have been more wrong –clean, modern, dynamic, full of friendly energetic people. The country was a mosaic of contrasting cultures, a bustling international metropolis. He agreed with the strict laws, and their strict enforcement, such as no chewing gum, no graffiti, no littering, and no jaywalking, especially with the extremely strict punishments for bringing any sort of illegal drugs into the country. As a result, there were no gangs and virtually no crime to speak of. Bond liked Singapore. He liked the remnants of colonialism that were celebrated, not hidden away or erased from history as frequently happened in the former colonies of empire; the pot puree of place names that celebrated the joining of two worlds; from the every so English Somerset to the mysterious Dhoby Ghaut. He enjoyed the juxtaposition of the old world mixed with the ultra-modern society the island had evolved into. Sir Thomas Raffles the founder of Singapore and man who established the island city-nationas a colony of Great Britain would be proud of what the thirty-one by sixteen-mile island had become, with its strong and growing economy, 5.5 million inhabitants and all despite the fact the island possessed no natural resources. Everything, including water which was piped in from Malaysia, was imported. Bond adjusted his watch; the local time was nineteen hundred hours, as the A380 gently touched down onto the runway to the east of the island belaying its enormous size.

**0019**

**Gardens by the bay**

President Patrice Adoula held court on the skyway, an elevated walkway which was suspended between two large manmade steel super trees that allowed a panoramic aerial view over the gardens by the bay. It was nearing dusk and the daylight was fading as the sun sank below the horizon. The Super Tree Grove consisted of giant metal structures in the shape of trees that were clothed in ferns, bromeliads and other flora that climbed up their "trunks." The warm city air was redolent with ubiquitous frangipani and jasmine.

"These are simply magnificent. They are like the Avenue of the Baobabs in Madagascar. There are, how many?" the President quickly counted the number of super trees. "A dozen: I want fifty such trees in Kinshasa". He told the eager trade delegation.

Gardens by the Bay opened in 2012. They were built on a plot of reclaimed land in Central Singapore in the shadow of the Marina Bay Sands hotel which dominates the area. There were three different waterfront gardens; Bay South Garden, Bay East Garden and Bay Central Garden covering one hundred and one hectares. The gardens contain a vast variety of plants and flowers from all over the world and even an indoor waterfall. Two cooled dome conservatories: The Cloud Forest and the Flower Dome complemented the twelve Steel Giant Super trees. The Gardens, fascinating by day became mesmerizing by night, when they lit up. The Super trees ranged between twenty-five to fifty metres, sixteen storeys high, with large canopies that provided shade in the daytime and offered a platform for light and sounds at night. They housed enclaves of unique and exotic ferns, vines, orchids and also a vast collection of bromeliads. They were fitted with environmental technologies that mimicked the ecological function of trees – photovoltaic cells that harnessed solar energy which was used for some of the functions of the Super trees, such as lighting, just like photosynthesis; and collection of rainwater for use in irrigation and fountain displays, exactly like how trees absorbed rainwater for growth. The Super trees also served as air intake and exhaust functions for part of the conservatories' cooling systems.

The trade delegates were largely from the countries of South East Asia and all wanted to be involved in the renaissance of the Congo. They understood the task was massive, but anything was achievable with enough funding. The very land they were stood on was once the ocean, a fact not lost on any of them. The islands growth had been significant over the past few decades and its growth continued by utilising 'reclaimed land' – a process in which earth obtained from Singapore's own hills, the seabed, and neighbouring countries was used to extend the island further out into the sea. About sixty square miles had been reclaimed from the sea_. _Most of the modern hotels and entertainment centres visited by tourists, and even the airport, were built in areas that had been under water a mere two decades previous.Miracles could happen for those who were bold enough.

"I have come to Singapore as it is a shining light in development. They have done marvellous things". President Adoula waved his arms enthusiastically gesticulating about his surroundings. "This is a place that has no natural resources, yet they are the world's fourth leading financial centre and possess the world's highest percentage of millionaires. Think of what we could achieve with the resources we have in the Congo".

As the day became night the trees burst alive with vivid purple neon lights transforming the whole area into a magical grotto which was not lost on the appreciative crowd as they gave a loud cheer and applause.

All around Singapore sparkled and shone. Every new building on the waterfront seemed to be designed with an architectural award in mind. Some resembled armadillos; others paper planes, oyster shells and rocket ships_. _

The crowd cheered and clapped as fireworks exploded and lasers darted across the night sky above the marina. A delegation of half a dozen Chinese surrounded the President and walked with him as he approached the lift that would descend the super tree. They were in deep conversation.

**0020**

**28 Nassim Road**

The Union Jack danced in the wind from the top of the flag pole firmly planted in the tree lined front garden of Eden Hall, number 28 Nassim Road. Three men stood on the second-floor veranda of the British High Commissioner's official residence overlooking the lush garden. The surrounding grounds gave refuge to a variety of tropical birds, including kingfishers, long-tailed parakeets and black-napped oriels. Their melodic evening call could be heard over the rustling cicadas. The area was once a large sprawling nutmeg plantation and now was home to several foreign embassies and colonial bungalows with their white stucco facades and black trim. Eden Hall was built in 1904; the 14,000-square-footresidence's distinctive décor of white plasterwork foliage on a grey background earned it two nicknames: "The Wedding Cake" and "Wedgwood House." The turn-of-the-century mansion was built by Ezekiel Saleh Manasseh, a merchant from Baghdad who sold rice and opium. R.A.J. Bidwell, of the renowned local architecture firm Swan & Maclaren, designed the mansion which the British government bought and its original four-and-a-half-acre property in 1955.

The Commissioner, a thin tall man with a hooked nose and slight aura of camp turned to M and Bond. He pointed towards the fluttering flag.

"It always fills me with pride when I see the flag hoisted. There's a plaque on the pole that says, "May the Union flag fly here forever" and may it do so. Eden Hall is a unique asset in Singapore – other embassies have gorgeous houses, but they don't represent them the way Eden Hall represents Britain in Singapore. It's been in our possession since the 1950s, and since Independence in 1965 it's been the residence of British High Commissioners to Singapore. A position I have had the honour to hold for the last five years. It's simply wonderful to watch one's children play football on the front lawn whilst taking breakfasts in the sunroom. We open the doors fully to catch the cool morning breeze". All three men were formally dressed in black tie attire.

"It certainly is a beautiful place to live." M took a sip of a pleasing single malt.

"It must be a shame to share it with so many people". Bond referred to the several hundred politicians, trade delegates and ex pats that were enjoying the Halls hospitality.

"On the contrary we hold a steady stream of functions, about four every week. My favourite is the Queen's birthday in June". The Commissioner beamed proudly, "The Pipes and Drums Platoon of the Singapore Police Force's Ghurkha Contingent played "Happy Birthday" for 800 guests: Simply magical".

Eden Hall was again busy. Representatives of the thousand resident British companies were waiting with great anticipation for the arrival of President Patrice Adoula. Guests drank cocktails and ate traditional fish and chips hors d'oeuvre wrapped in a mock newspaper entitled "Eden Hall Times".

The Prime minister was also present rubbing palms and speaking to a small select group representing the thirty-two thousand expatriates that had made their home in Singapore. She was talking to the group under a wraparound veranda next to the double front doors. The doors opened to the parquet tiled floorfoyer that linked three large reception rooms, all were lined with veranda doors and filled with a mix of traditional English furniture and contemporary Chinese pieces, as well as art from the British government's collection. A red-carpet staircase led to six bedrooms and another reception room that featured the work of Paul Huxley, a contemporary British artist.The Prime Minister freed herself from the group by introducing them to some low-level civil servant. She then ascended the Scarlett O'Hara staircase and walked towards the three men on the veranda.

"I suggest you gentlemen mingle a little bit. We need maximum effort to sell ourselves when the President arrives". She reached across and grasped Bonds right bicep "Mr Bond I know you prefer unanimity, but President Adoula is insistent that he meets you to personally thank you for his rescue".

"I wasn't the only one". Bond was sharp.

"I know that. You are the one he has asked for. So do your duty and serve your country". The Prime Minister was equally sharp. M couldn't help but smirk at his agent being castigated. The Commissioner quietly slipped away pretending to recognise someone with a smile and a wave of his hand.

"I don't know what you find funny M. You failed to protect the President in the first place. We need to make amends. Billions of pounds worth of trade may depend up on it".

"That failure, as you say, resulted in the death of one of our agents. His name was David Mason in case you have forgotten, and he died in the service of his country". M wasn't smiling anymore.

"Then do not let his death be in vain". The Prime Minister turned and walked towards a group of trade delegates.

Bond studied a spindle of the interior wrought-iron balustrade. It was an original piece dating from when the house was built. Each spindle had an "M" fashioned in it. He presumed it was for the builder Manasseh, but couldn't help but mention to M

"It looks like this place has your name written all over it sir"

"I need a drink. You can always count on a good old bollocking to give you a thirst". M wandered off in search of the bar.

Bond peered over the veranda and momentarily closed his eyes, taking in the rhythmic noise of the tropical night and allowed the still humid air to caress his skin; for a moment he felt at peace. He opened his eyes and looked down upon a vision of beauty stood alone on the front lawn near the flag pole.

**0021**

**A SHOT IN THE DARK**

Bond confidently approached the woman. The Union Jack gently flapped in the light evening breeze amongst the lush greenery. She was tall athletic and oriental; dressed in a full length khaki coloured silk dress. The dress was slashed to above the knee, revealing a perfectly formed leg. She looked at Bond as he approached and smiled. Her face reminded him of the Chinese phrase "_lucent irises, lustrous teeth_" for she possessed sparkling crystal-clear eyes and perfectly – aligned white teeth; he wondered why she was unaccompanied and resolved to change the situation.

He'd snatched an open bottle of red wine off a passing waiter's tray and collected two lead crystal glasses from a nearby table. Stepping down the six alabaster steps onto the lawn, he expertly filled one of the glasses to three quarters full as he walked. He raised the glass towards a floodlight that illuminated the garden in order to inspect the light bodied hue. The wine was a Bâtard-Montrachet, Domaine Morey-Coffinet 2005. Bond drawled his constants in true Burgundian fashion "batarr mohn-rash-eh' as he admiringly nodded his acknowledgement of the bottle's contents. Eden Hall wasn't scrimping on the wine.

On a sloping incline across the road from the mansion two large colonial-era homes stood, known as black and whites. The black-and-white motif had been described as "English mock Tudor married to an Anglo-Indian style" by their previous owners; the Singapore government. The buildings were up for sale and were unoccupied. A figure dressed completely in black lay prone, hidden in the shadows.

The green image from the night vision glasses captured the whole scene. A high-powered microphone supplied the soundtrack. The sensitive equipment picked up the squeal of tyres as four large cars turned right off Nassim Road, through the open security gates and made their way up the winding drive towards Eden Hall. As the vehicles came into view the night vision glasses were replaced by a sniper's rifle, Finnish built SAKO TRG 42, with a high-powered optical sight attached. The sight was focused on a reference point; the British coat of arms above the two front doors that led into the hall. The aim was then moved downwards towards its target. The time was 10.15pm.

As the convoy of vehicles approached Eden Hall the Pipes and Drums Platoon of the Singapore Police Force's Ghurkha Contingent began to play a rendition of the Debout Congolais, the DRC's national anthem, the lead car, a Range Rover pulled up outside the entrance in front of The Prime Minister, Commissioner and M who were stood symbolically below the British coat of arms waiting to greet the President. Three suited bodyguards disembarked, scanning the area. One moved towards the waiting congregation. The second vehicle was a white Rolls Royce Cullinan. The vehicle had been specially selected by the Prime Minister to transport the President during his visit to Singapore. The doors remained closed.

"What do you mean he's making his own way?" The Prime Minister was clearly agitated.

Bond barely acknowledged the vehicles arrival as he took a couple of sips of the wine, drawing air across his tongue and enjoyed the mix of delicate aromas that changed with every sip and the palate that mixed bright citrus with rich vanilla custard. Satisfied with his impromptu choice he lowered the glass as he approached the woman. She stood with her back to him. As the glass descended a flash of light momentarily cut through the liquid; a light that could only be seen through the wines scarlet filter. Bond immediately recognised it. His senses were fizzing as he moved the glass right to left tracing the laser beam. Its origin was one of two large buildings on the sloping incline across the road. He glanced toward the group that had congregated outside the Halls entrance.

Bond moved the glass back to his right following the beam. He fully expected it to reach the group of people. He traced the beam until the outline of the woman was blurred through the wine. When reality dawned, he immediately dropped the bottle, allowing it to fall to the ground. The two glasses quickly followed. A pair of long tailed Parakeets knowingly took flight as Bond rushed forward. He could see the red laser dot dancing around the folds of the woman's dress on the upper part of her body. She turned as Bond bore down on her. Fear spread across her face as he smashed into her. Both bodies slammed hard onto the carpet of grass. The woman tried to scream, but the assault had forced the air out of her lungs. All she could do was gasp. Only Bond felt the Grim Reapers swish of a subsonic round pass above his head. He momentarily hesitated as he lay on top of the struggling woman; half expecting a second round to strike at his back. When that did not happen, he pushed himself up, muttered an apology and sprinted down the driveway towards the security gates. His right hand instinctively felt for the berretta that should have been nestled under his left arm. He cursed as he realised the weapon had been securely locked away in a safe at the insistence of the Singapore government. He vaulted the first barrier signalling for assistance from the security guard, but before he reached the second barrier a trials bike sped down the drive of the Swiss cottage, skidding right onto Nassim road. The bike had no plates or distinguishing features; Bond immediately knew the rider was the sniper and pursuit would have been futile. He quickly flashed his identification to the bemused guard and explained the situation. He started walking back to the garden in search of the woman when he heard the thunderous raw of a large engine vehicle approach the gates. The guard received instructions over his radio and allowed it access. Bond turned as the exhaust note of a 6.8 litre V10 engine cracked. What confronted him was nothing short of alien, a super hero's stealth vehicle. He recognised the black angular Sports Utility Vehicle as a Karlmann King; the world's most expensive SUV. The cost started at well over one million pounds in its basic form. The large Ford F-550 four hundred horsepower engine was needed to move the six-meter-long, four-and-a-half-ton vehicle. Bond was almost certain that weight would be nearer six ton with the added security and bullet proofing. It was pure extravagance, designed by the Chinese company IAT and built by a team in Europe. It contained every conceivable bespoke luxury, but the sheer weight made the vehicle ponderous, only allowing a maximum speed of eighty-seven miles per hour. The Karlmann King thundered passed Bond and continued up the short driveway, veering to the left of Eden Hall and stopped under a white canvass gazebo that covered the buildings side entrance.

**0022**

**The Ordre National du Léopard**

The reception party had been frantically repositioned in front of the side door and the Ghurkha band were trying to compete with the cracking exhaust note that threatened to vibrate anything with in close proximity to a thousand pieces. With a final crack the engine was turned off and the rear passenger door of the alien like vehicle was opened by a bodyguard. President Patrice Kitengi Adoula stepped out onto the gravel drive. The band repeated its rendition of the Debout Congolais.

The Prime Minister moved forward and offered her hand. President Adoula offered the bandaged stump of his left arm in return. A broad smile spread across his face. The Prime Minister already sweating due to the heat became flustered and grabbed his right hand with both of hers.

"Welcome to Singapore and our home Eden Hall Mr President". The Prime Minister guided the President up the stairs to the ballroom. Unlike many other ambassadors' residences, the house was not divided into public space downstairs and private quarters upstairs. Although there was a small private family sitting room upstairs, the upper floor was dominated by a ballroom, which was one of the main entertainment areas.

"Nassim Road is the most sought-after neighbourhood in Singapore".

"I am aware of the expense. I am on the verge of paying Sixty-eight million dollars for a newly renovated twelve thousand-square-foot mansion. It sits on the site next to the Philippine Embassy. It will be the DRC's new home in Singapore. Perhaps you would care to donate". A lavish grin spread across President Adoula's face.

"I would have to consult with my Chancellor of the Exchequer". The Prime Minster nervously spoke. She wasn't quite sure if the President was serious.

"Tell him it would be an investment. That vehicle is a present from my friends in Beijing. They have been very generous".

The dropped bottle and glasses were fortunately intact, and the bottle still held a third of its expensive contents. Bond retrieved them and poured himself a healthy measure. The woman was nowhere to be seen and no one knew who she was or where she had gone. As he searched the lawn for evidence of the incriminating bullet Bond heard the Prime Minster shouting his name from the first-floor veranda. He downed the wine and strode across the driveway, under the wrap around veranda and through the left of the two front doors that lead into the foyer. He wasn't in a hurry. The foyer was surprisingly empty and quiet, the leather soles of his Church Derby's tapped on the parquet floor before they were muffled by the red carpeted staircase that lead towards the reception room. He stepped up the dark wood stairs with its wrought iron balustrades, past the Union Jack and the flag of Singapore that flanked the bottom step. He courteously acknowledged the portrait of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, which was strategically positioned as the stairs turned right, he then continued upwards. Bond entered the reception room and made his way through the crowd of dignitaries and trade delegates who were all vying for President Adoula's attention. The room was long with several tall French double doors that lead outside onto the veranda. The doors were framed with thick terracotta curtains and closed to allow the small air-conditioning unit that sat high in the corner of the room a chance to work. The small ugly unit was assisted by half a dozen ceiling fans that rhythmically rotated, emitting a low hum. Bond noted the room was well lit, even though he thought the crystal chandeliers were painfully small for such a large area. He walked past several tasting stations that had been set up for the delegates to feast upon; helping himself to a selection of English cheese, oat cakes and chutneys as he passed by. There was a wide range of Scottish craft beers & ciders, English sparkling wines and soft drinks available. Guests were also treated to canapés made with Scottish smoked salmon, British beef, lamb and pork sausages. He noticed a small lectern with antennae like microphones and a small tele-prompter had been set up at the far end of the room. The Prime Minster was preparing to speak. The crowd fell silent.

"Thank you for that warm welcome… it's great to be here.

Firstly, I'd like to thank the Governor and the staff of Eden Hall for hosting and giving me the opportunity to speak about our relationship with President Adoula and the Democratic Republic of the Congo in such a beautiful venue.

In particular, I'd like to thank John and his team for the wonderful work they do. They always pull together a strong and influential audience, and it's clear to me they are doing great work promoting the United Kingdom in the South East Asian region.

It's great to be here in Singapore. I enjoy visiting this amazingly vibrant and successful City, its palpable optimism for the future and the impact it has far beyond its shores. I love the way it blends the old and new, and the similarities between our two countries - we're joined at the hip not just by common interests and our shared dedication to the rule of law but by our shared history that has connected our two peoples together for 200 years.

And that sense of shared history and common endeavour that is just as relevant for that other Nation present here today." The Prime Minister then motioned towards President Adoula.

"I am therefore delighted to be here, alongside President Adoula.

The Democratic Republic of Congo is one of the examples in Africa and the world of double standards of the international community and the heavy burden of colonialism. Even though the UK is a former EU country, I can announce we will not join the EU's proposed sanctions against the Democratic Republic of Congo for election irregularities.

Today, free to act, free from the shackles of EU membership, we give notice of our intent to invest heavily in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The DRC stands on the cusp of playing a transformative role in the global economy. A more prosperous, growing and trading DRC is in all of our interests. But its incredible potential will only be realised through a concerted partnership between governments, global institutions and business.

That's why we are bringing together today, political leaders and business leaders.

It is why I want the UK to be the G7's number one investor in the DRC by 2022, with our companies investing billions into your economy; an ambitious target given China's involvement in the continent, but not impossible.

It is why the UK is ensuring that the 0.7% of gross national income we spend on development will do more to support investment and job creation.

I can announce plans for £1 billion of new UK government investment in the DRC economy that will pave the way for at least another £1 billion of private sector financing.

Therefore, I am championing a whole-of-Government approach to stepping up our partnership with the DRC.

This means bringing together the UK's development and humanitarian expertise, our world-class diplomacy, our political analysis, our trade expertise, our health specialists, our education experts and our military and security excellence." The Prime Minister glanced towards M and Bond.

"Our all-important trade relationships can support the creation of millions of jobs and stimulate the trillions of pounds of investment needed to help you ultimately move on from a dependence on aid.

We want to leverage British expertise to help create private investment in your country. For example, using our financial industries and the City of London to foster deeper capital markets and strengthen links between the Bank of England and the Bank of Kinshasa.

The UK is also building partnerships which tackle shared threats and support President Adoula's desire to resolve the DRC's own problems; whether that's British military teams training troops or helping eradicate Ebola or the national crime agency working with their counterparts to shut down illegal smuggling routes. We will continue to do this because it is absolutely in our national interest to do so – terrorism, disease, illegal immigration and modern-day slavery do not respect borders.

I am optimistic about our proposed partnership and about harnessing that huge energy and potential to really make a difference to the global economy.

We must be bold, put aside historic differences. Bring together the best people from academia, governments, civil society, and industry, to think through these challenges.

There may sometimes be tension, as in any partnership. But I recall the words of Sir Winston Churchill: "There is at least one thing worse than fighting with allies – And that is fighting without them".

Our strong and stable government will bring together private and institutional businesses and investors to create strong alliances.

When the DRC succeeds, the world succeeds.

So let us together invest in the DRC and – in doing so – invest in all our futures.

Africa really is a continent absolutely crammed with possibility, and for the UK, Africa and the DRC matters". The crowd began to clap and cheer. The Prime Minster stepped back from the lectern and motioned the crowd in the direction of Adoula. The big President lapped up the attention. Bowing and then pretended to clap along with the crowd.

Even though Bond had tried to keep a low-profile President Adoula noticed him making his way through the crowd and shouted.

"Here he is. My saviour has arrived". He threw his arms open wide in a greeting and an infectious smile spread across his face.

"Mr President..." Bond placed his food on a nearby table as the big man hugged him tightly. After an eternal amount of time Bond was released from the Presidents embrace.

"I am so pleased to see you and relieved that this time we meet under more favourable conditions".

"I am glad to see that you are so well sir and that your recovery has been so swift".

"The reason I am so well is largely down to you Mr Bond. Let me tell everyone in the room how you saved me". His voice boomed as he made himself heard above the crowd. The Prime Minister appearing slightly nervous whispered something in his ear.

"National security! What nonsense, this man deserves recognition". The President bellowed. "I will only say that if it wasn't for Mr. Bond". He pulled Bond to his side. "I would have lost more than this". He thrust his handless arm above his head.

The crowd applauded and cheered.

"The Democratic Republic of the Congo now has an opportunity to rebuild and evolve into the country its people and resources deserve. This man must take some credit for enabling this to happen".

The guests again cheered.

"I have come to Singapore to start the regeneration. Tomorrow there will be important decisions made on our trade and co-operation with our friends and partners, but tonight I have come to your beautiful Eden Hall to thank Commander James Bond, CMG, RNVR. His actions not only saved my life but have saved a whole nation from a living hell that has existed for far too long". An assistant held a large flat, square teak box with its lid prised open up to the President. Inside the box was a purple velvet lined interior that supported a large medal.

The Ordre national du Léopard was the DRC's highest award. The central disk on the 45mm, point to point, obverse featured a prowling leopard, surrounded by the inscription on white enamel. Spear tips pierced four of the eight star-points; the inscription translated to Justice, Peace and Work. Five of the star points were blue and three were red. The enamel on the central disk of the obverse and on four of the six lower star points was the same blue as the ribbon. The reverse featured a white enamel centre with the inscription, REPUBLIQUE DEMOCRATIQUE DU CONGO surrounding a five-pointed blue star.

President Adoula held the medal by the attached blue, gold and red ribbon that supported the heavy weight on a crossed sword suspension. He lifted it above Bonds head with his one hand and gently placed it around his neck. Bond was uncomfortable at being the centre of attention in such a public way, members of the Secret Service never received public acclaim for their actions, but he graciously acknowledged the recognition with a smile and a nod of the head.

The Prime minister attempted to offer President Adoula a selection of food from the tasting stations, as she guided him away from Bond towards the eagerly awaiting business representatives.

"I prefer traditional African food, like antelope, fish and eels". He bluntly replied.

**0023**

**The Immortal Orchid.**

Bond woke early the next morning at four thirty. He felt slightly groggy from the change in time zone, so showered and dressed ready for a pre-breakfast run. Hoping it would revive him.

He jogged down the drive, past the security box and turned right onto Nassim road. He couldn't get the mysterious girl from the previous night out of his head. He felt strangely protective and responsible for her safety. He didn't know who she was, but the knowledge that someone was intent on harming her made him feel unusually anxious. She was clearly in danger, but why was she, what was she doing in the garden and where had she disappeared to? It all intrigued him; an intrigue that pricked at his usually impregnable armour. Bond started to wonder if that armour, the one that allowed him to clinically carryout his duty without question was beginning to wear thin. He thought he had got over the malaise that had followed Cherry's funeral, but was he becoming too emotional for the job? Casting such doubts aside, forcing them to the dark recesses of his mind, he began to run faster, hoping the physical exertion would purge him of such emotion.

The route took Bond past the Russian Embassy on his left before he crossed the road and entered the Botanical gardens via Nassim gate, which was notable for not actually having a gate on the entrance. The garden consisted of more than 11 acres of original jungle land that had been preserved in their natural state and was home to approximately 3,000 species of tropical and subtropical plants and a herbarium of about 500,000 preserved specimens. Much of the 80-acre garden, which was founded by the British in the mid-19th century, was hewn out of the Malay jungle. At this time of the day, downtown Singapore's last remaining green lung was a cool, bucolic retreat filled with joggers, dog walkers and tai-chi practitioners.

Bond veered left towards the visitor centre along Rain tree drive. Raffles building was to his right. He controlled his pace along the winding boardwalk that passed through the swaths of virgin primeval rainforest that featured some of the oldest trees on the island. He wiped sweat that was trickling down his temple with his forearm and tried to replenish the lost fluid from a plastic water bottle he carried. Macaques Monkeys chattered as he ran by, complaining about his intrusion. The gardens opened out into wide rolling lawns where locals practiced tai-chi amongst the early morning mist. It was early so he'd avoided the tourists who flocked to visit the National orchard gardens to his right. He took another left onto the Lower ring road, past the Prisoner of war brick steps, where he bowed his head in remembrance. He then took a right onto Main gate road and sprinted past the Swiss Granite Fountain with its ever-revolving stone ball. The road dropped down to Swan Lake with its trio of bronze swans majestically taking off from the centre of the lake. At the southern tip of the lake was a Victorian style gazebo. Bond recognised the man sat in the shaded gazebo reading an early edition of the Straits Times newspaper. Felix Leiter had taken the short walk from The American Embassy across the road at number 27 Napier Road. He looked relaxed and cool wearing stone coloured light weight chinos, a navy blue linen short sleeved shirt, black leather espadrilles and a pair of seemingly compulsory Ray Ban aviator sunglasses.

"Next time we meet nearer my home. You can jog". Bond was sweating profusely. The climate was tropical rainforest. Sitting just one degree north of the equator did not allow for much variance in temperature. Even early in the morning the humidity was rising to an uncomfortable level.The temperature would hit ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit by mid-day.

"Good morning James". Felix folded his newspaper and peered above the frame of his glasses. "Do I look like a man who jogs?" He passed Bond the newspaper and a small towel.

"Perhaps one who should?" Bond smiled as he sat down and accepted the towel. He mopped his forehead and neck. "What's in the paper?"

"Something your Prime Minister no doubt will be raging about. It's on the fourth page". Bond unfolded the broadsheet and found the article in question. The headline read "_Brazzaville (African News) - China to build Congo's new €50m parliament for free. The Democratic Republic of Congo's new parliament in Kinshasa will be built by the Chinese at an estimated cost of €50m, which the Chinese government is giving as a gift._"

"The trade deal doesn't appear to be going our way. We expected China to cut their losses and abandon the country. I'm surprised we can't hear the screaming from Eden Hall down here".

The location was the epitome of serenity. Swans smoothly drifted across the glassy lake named after them. The only disturbance was the occasional large catfish breaking the surface in search of the constantly chirping insects. Even the resident red eared terrapins were sunbathing on part-submerged rocks.

"Fortunately, we can't. This is such a peaceful place. You Brits certainly know how to build a garden. It's so fragrant". He inhaled the air which was rich with the scent of jasmine. "The only place you'll find Jackie Chan, Margaret Thatcher, and Nelson Mandela in the same place; names of Orchids". Leiter explained, referring to a few of the orchid hybrids that were named after famous celebrities. There were two hundred celebrity named varieties out of the two thousand hybrids that inhabited the National orchard gardens.

"Perhaps that is what our current Prime Minister desires; immortality in an orchid".

"Then she should be careful what flower bed she climbs into. Some species of Orchids can find the Congo too dry and hostile".

"You're not a fan of President Adoula?"

"Let's say I have personal reasons to dislike him and Uncle Sam doesn't see him as the saviour of central Africa. We don't share the same optimism as your Prime minister or the desperation to do business. He has an unsavoury history and the CIA are quite adapt at spotting someone like that. We normally employ them".

"I'm sure you'll be able to capitalise on any of his vices and make a profit".

"Trust me James we are only here as a formality. We have no interest in getting embroiled in the Dark Continent. In fact, we are withdrawing most of our military and winding down any special operations we are currently involved in on the continent, under our Presidents "America first" initiative. We prefer there to be an African solution for African problems. We've had nothing but trouble ever since China opened a neighbouring base, their "overseas support facility", near our camp Lemonnier in Djibouti: Our pilots being blinded by lasers and their drones disrupting the airspace. Every accusation we make, they just make a counter accusation. Truth and reality no longer exist. Our focus now will be the Asia – Pacific region. If Her Majesties Government wants to play nation building then we won't be the one who stands in your way, but rest assured someone will. The Chinese almost certainly will, so be careful. Be very careful. Remember the UN's dalliance in the Katanga region back in the sixties". Leiter cautioned.

"And there I was thinking you flew all this way just to see me". Bond faked disappointment.

"I'm here as a friend James and I have news regarding your investigation into Billecart and Loxley, and one of their employees; someone who goes by the name of John Smith".

Bonds interest was pricked "Yes".

"The man you believe killed that young woman you were working with; incidentally she was M's daughter". Leiter paused for effect, but Bond had already suspected that was the case, "He's a mercenary, international hit man..."

"Who goes by the name of The Blacksmith". Bond finished Felix's sentence.

"You've heard of him? Up to now nobody has actually identified the Blacksmith". Felix stroked the stubble on his chin.

"Of course I have Felix. I work for British Intelligence. So, there's a link between Billecart and Loxley and the threat to Adoula? And Smith is the key".

A low buzz emitted from Leiter's trouser pocket. He pulled out a mobile phone and swiped his finger across the screen. He read the message and then replaced the phone in his pocket.

"There's definitely a link between Adoula and Smith, but unfortunately I must return to the Chancery. Walk with me to the exit". Leiter and Bond walked along the path leading to the Tanglin gate. An avenue of vegetation which consisted of Para rubber trees, teak trees, bamboos, and a huge array of palms, including the sealing wax palm with its bright scarlet stalks that shaded them from the rising sun. Plantain Squirrels scurried around the undergrowth and leapt playfully from tree to tree. Their activity disturbed the palm fronds and wafted the scent of jasmine around the sheltered pathway. The trees were interspersed with bougainvilleas and heliconias that added to the aroma and provided a vivid palate of colour. A giant dragon-like monitor lizard, a metre in length ambled past them and continued into the vegetation next to a gently bubbling stream that had cascaded down through the gardens and then disappeared under the pathway.

"We have our first conference meeting later this morning. I'll mention this to M on the way".

"I suspect your PM will take a little more persuading. Her desperation to replace the EU as a trading partner appears to be all consuming. What better than a mineral rich country that needs rebuilding. We've tried low level contacts to dissuade her, but suspicion and paranoia appears to be setting in and the general distrust of our President doesn't help".

"Loyalty to one's country can sometimes be testing".

"Your Queen will not be amused".

"Wrong Queen Felix, but no she won't".

Unlike Nassim gate, the Tanglin gate possessed an ornate silver coloured steel gate designed with a leaf motif. The exit led to Napier road. The imposing structure that Felix called the Chancery could be seen across the increasingly busy dual carriage way. The American Embassy was massive. It was designed as a contemporary American office building in the tropical garden city and featured thick stone facing for the first two stories with a three-story office tower rising above the base. A reflecting pool and landscaped colonnade marked the entrance. The building's façade, primarily granite from the State of Minnesota, was selected for its natural beauty, low maintenance and resistance to the elements. The exterior and interiors were accented with marble from the State of Vermont. It was a formidable looking building: If America was trying to project an image of friendliness and peace; this building fell well short as it looked like a seriously well-fortified fortress Bond thought. The thick stone walls looked like they could withstand a nuclear attack and with all the hidden security features and resident detachment of Marine guards, this was probably one of the most secure buildings in Singapore and as Singapore was one of the safest places in the world; the American embassy therefore must be one of the safest buildings on earth.

"Before you go; I bumped into an attractive lady last night…"

"Really; you do surprise me". Felix interrupted and feigned shock.

"She was a little taller than you, athletic, oriental, possibly Chinese with hair about shoulder length, strikingly beautiful. Is she one of yours?"

"Unfortunately, I don't know of anyone in the agency of that description operating in Singapore, but I'll ask a few questions".

"Thanks, I think I made an impact, but she disappeared before I could properly introduce myself. Talking of China, can you have a look at this? Our lads are taking their time analysing it. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say there're sitting on it". Bond handed Felix a copy of the Chinese document that had been found on Billecarts laptop. "Operation Black Swan?"

Felix wasn't an expert in Mandarin, but one set of characters stood out in the sub title 核武器. "Héwǔqì: Nuclear weapons" he translated. "Where did you find this?"

"It was on a laptop. Not really something we were expecting to find. I think it's a report about Tantalum salt; ever heard of that?" Bond refrained from sensationalizing the document by mentioning the doomsday weapon Q had mentioned.

"I can't say I have. Can I keep this?"

"Be my guest. It's a copy".

Felix gave Bond a knowing smile. "Stay safe James. In our business we often have to do undesirable things, but this whole scenario with the Congo has avoidable danger written all over it". Leiter shook Bonds hand, turned and proceeded to ascend the covered footbridge that spanned the dual carriageway leading onto Middlesex road which separated the Australian High Commission from the sanctuary of his fortress.

Bond spun around on his heels and re-entered the Botanical gardens. His stomach churned and growled with hunger, there was no point in rushing back with the information, all would be revealed in due course, so he made his way to the food court near the Tanglin Gate. He sat down at one of the outside picnic tables and ordered a traditional local breakfast of soft-boiled eggs, coffee and toast slathered with coconut jam.

Two joggers ran by, their facial features hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and branded baseball caps. Tell-tale wires protruded from the earphones they wore. The wires were connected to smart phones strapped to their right biceps. One spoke into a microphone part way down the wire,

"We may have a problem. We need to move the schedule forward". They both increased their jogging pace almost to a sprint.

**0024**

**The edge of heaven.**

The assassin confidently strode towards the Marina Bay Sands hotel. Thunder rumbled over the islands interior and a fork of lightning hit the ground some way off in the distance. Each of the three fifty-five-storey towers began at an angled base and curved sinuously up until the walls stood perpendicular to the ground at the twenty third floor. All three towers were crowned by the world's largest cantilevered platform that spanned a length equal to four and a half Airbus A380s. The single platform extended a few meters beyond Tower three; its curved bottom gave the appearance of a ship balanced precariously on top of a trio of pillars that were bending as they struggled with its weight.

The assassin entered the twenty three storey tall atrium at the base of tower three on 10 Bayfront Drive Marina Bay; skilfully negotiated away around the Taxis and private cars that disgorged passengers at the Tower entrance, walked through the complex to the elevator that lead up to the Sky Park at the far end of the Tower 3 exit and passed through security and the airport style metal detectors; a wallet, watch and stainless steel fountain pen were placed in a tray to be inspected by the x-ray machine. Once the security guards were satisfied the doors to the elevator opened allowing access to the elevator lobby on the thirty first floor. As the elevator ascended the assassin assembled a plastic hand gun that had been printed earlier on a 3D printer. The weapon had minimal metallic parts, only the chamber and barrel were metal, fashioned from the fountain pen; the nib forming the firing pin. The four bullets were made of toughened plastic casings and Teflon rounds. The whole assembly was completed before the doors opened. The weapon slipped in the waistband of the uniform trousers. The assassin then switched elevators and ascended all the way to the fifty seventh floor and the sky park.

At 11.30am President Patrice Kitengi Adoula stepped into the elevator on the thirty seventh floor of the Marina Bay Sands Hotel. He was dressed in a hotel robe and slippers. The elevator oozed of polished leather. His bodyguard dressed in more formal attire pressed the required button and the elevator soared silently upwards towards the heavens. They arrived at their destination, the fifty seventh floor, in an ear popping heartbeat. As the doors effortlessly slid open, both men stepped outside to see a grimy orange sun clawing its way through the low cloud of a muggy Singapore morning.

The bodyguard swiped a card across a reader at the entrance to the Sky Park. The gate clicked open and allowed them both into a deserted swimmer's nirvana. The faintly rippled surface of the world's longest elevated swimming pool lay before them. The 150-metre pool had been designed with a daring "vanishing edge"; giving the illusion that there was nothing between the swimmer and a 200-metre plummet to the street below. Three other bodyguards were already at the pool area stationed at strategic points. Each carried Heckler and Koch machine pistols openly on show. They had assessed the surroundings and found them to be safe before the President had been allowed to start his journey. A row of palm trees, still trying to come to terms with the altitude, offered the promise of shade. Beneath the palms were two rows of sun loungers. Adoula removed his robe and tossed it on one of the loungers. He walked naked past a row of unoccupied loungers that sat at the water's edge almost submerged and stepped into the warm water.He hesitantly swam to the periphery, lured by the view and the desire to confront the danger of being swept over. He clung to the edge and peered over; the pool was on the west-facing side of the Sky Park, he could see the Marina Bay basin and the skyscrapers of Singapore's business district. An eerie grey and orange cloud had settled like a lid over the city. The humidity was rising. He stayed there for several minutes contemplating his own god like status, looking down from the edge of heaven, he then pushed himself away and swam his first few laps feeling as though he was free styling amongst the clouds.

Stroke, stroke and breathe. Turn and repeat.

After several laps he climbed on to one of the deckchairs that sat low at the pool's edge. The chair was positioned under a water fountain, He lay still allowing the cooling water to flow over his body. Storm clouds had begun to draw in, as the air was sticky with humidity.

**0025**

**An Orchard full of bullets**

Bond opened the rear passenger door of the White Jaguar XJ saloon. The oppressive heat of the Singapore summers afternoon caused him to perspire with the slightest of physical exertion. The formality of having to wear a jacket was understood, but occasionally irked. He adjusted his Persol wayfarer style sunglasses whilst scanning the immediate area for threats and held the saloons door open with his right hand, whilst guiding M into the refuge of its cool air-conditioned interior with his left. He immediately followed, closing the heavily armoured door behind him.

"There's going to be a storm," observed Bond as he folded and placed the sunglasses in his inside jacket pocket.

Dark clouds could be seen coming inland off the straits of Malacca. A thunderstorm was typical in the afternoon, especially in the summer.

"Meteorologically or otherwise". M frowned.

The Jaguar pulled out of the exit drive of the British High Commission residence of Eden Hall. It manoeuvred down the short driveway past the flat roofed security building and through the open double set of iron gates onto Nassim road. The car was driven with precision by Henderson the driver. The road was relatively quiet and free from traffic as they passed the Philippines Embassy on their left. Bond observed a black Range Rover Sport with blacked out windows pull out onto the Road as they passed one of the side streets. The vehicle had been illegally parked, this was not particularly unusual, but he noted it nonetheless. Henderson took a left turn onto Tanglin road, past the shopping mall and Jen Tanglin hotel and then followed the road to the right onto the shoppers' paradise known as Orchard Road; the main commercial artery of the island. The whole area was crammed with gleaming malls selling the latest laptops, digital cameras and designer fashion. Jet lagged tourists purchased Gucci and Cartier from the Takashimaya department store and flaunted their latest acquisitions by carrying a ridiculous amount of branded carrier bags. There where extensive building works, along the wide Angsana tree lined road. The finished product would undoubtedly be modern and impressive, but Bond considered the process of achieving it, to be ugly and in a lot of cases unnecessary. Singapore was gradually losing, sadly in his opinion, all remnant of its past. He glanced back through the thick bulletproof rear window. The Black Range Rover was still a couple of vehicles behind.

M was busy reading documents on his tablet but appeared distracted. He looked uncomfortable in a navy-blue pin striped suit that Bond consider too heavy for the tropics. Bond caught a glimpse of an image on M's tablet and understood his distraction. It was the picture of Cherry. M had seen the video. He had not openly shown any signs of distress, but Bond knew there was something wrong.

"Sir?" there was concern in Bond voice.

M swiped the screen on the tablet and the image was replaced by a page of writing.

"It's going to be a long day 007; a lot of talking. Part of the conference will deal with the removal of the mining embargo and subsequent mineral rights in the DRC. The Americans and Chinese will naturally take the lion's share, but we'll milk the special relationship for all it's worth".

The traffic pace was always slow mid-afternoon but was reduced to a near crawl by ongoing building works. The government has placed hefty restrictions and fees just to own a car to try to combat the traffic problem but there were still issues, given the density of millionaires that lived in Singapore_. _A flash of lightening lit up the darkened sky in the distance. The following thunder could not be heard by the inhabitants of the extremely well sound proofed Jaguar, but Bond did notice pedestrians running for cover, many taking solace in the nearest designer store. He imagined the wide toothy grin on the store manager's face. Two motorbikes inched their way through the traffic and pulled up either side of the Jaguar. Their riders simultaneously flipped up their smoked visors and looked inquisitively at the oversized car. They were obviously looking for someone. The Jaguars tinted glass resisted their attempted intrusion. Frustrated, both riders snapped their visors back in place and shot off, scything their way through the slow-moving traffic, there exhausts cracking in sympathy with the growing storm.

The Jaguar neared the junction with Scott's road; Bond again looked for the Range Rover. It had moved into the left lane, slowly creeping nearer. A sense of unease began to rise in the pit of his stomach. In his peripheral vision he saw a heavy industrial lorry accelerate out of the junction. The impact as the lorry ploughed into the front of the XJ was both violent and ear shattering, tossing them around in the road.

Bond was stunned, but instinctively moved his right hand to where the Beretta would normally have been. It wasn't there; the local laws of the land forbade a foreign national from carrying a firearm. M looked dazed but was conscious. Henderson was slumped over the steering wheel and did not respond to Bond shouting his name. Bullets began to ricochet off the armoured bodywork. The Range Rover had swerved across two lanes of traffic and stopped. Bond assessed that four heavily armoured men had jumped from the vehicle and were now, in his opinion, wasting bullets against the purpose-built saloon. He noticed a cloud of smoke had been laid down beyond the Range Rover to prevent local CCTV cameras capturing any incriminating information.

M and Bond were relatively unscathed, their seat belts and passenger airbags had worked effectively. Bond touched M on the shoulder and nodded reassuringly.

"Well 007, we can't stay here. Can we?" M exclaimed as he took in the whole situation noticing that the secure airtight interior had been compromised by the impact. They were clearly vulnerable to a gas attack.

Bond slammed his fist against the back of the driver's seat, opening a hidden compartment. Within the compartment, neatly positioned and securely held was the square shaped KRISS Vector submachine gun with 2 spare magazines of 9mm Parabellum bullets, a Beretta Nano with a spare magazine and a Smith and Wesson M & P Bodyguard 38 revolver held in a neoprene ankle holster. There were also two smoke grenades.

Bond half expected a reprimand for keeping the illegal weapons as he passed M the Beretta and spare magazine and strapped the revolver to the inside of his left ankle.

"Good man". M said showing the signs of a trained soldier relishing the coming fight.

"The metro station over there sir?" Bond pointed to his left as he unfolded the stock from the futuristic looking KRISS Vector. M nodded his approval.

"Whatever happens today 007, you use the information you have to finish the mission". No other words were needed.

A flash of lightening and a crack of thunder preceded a heavy down pour of tropical rain as the two men burst from the Jaguar. The vehicle shielded them from the oncoming assault team. Bond tossed a smoke grenade in their direction and followed it with a burst from the rapid firing Vector. M also threw a smoke grenade in the same direction as he moved towards the crashed lorry. The lorry driver jumped from his cab brandishing a stubby Imgram sub-machine gun. Before he could release any bullets at the formidable rate of one thousand rounds per minute, he was shot dead by two neatly aimed "double taps" to the upper chest from M's Beretta.

Both men were now behind the cover of the lorry. Bond heard the harsh exhaust note of a rapidly approaching motor bike. He looked in the direction of the noise and identified one of the bikers that had shown interest in the Jaguar shortly before the impact. The bike was bearing down on them from the opposite direction of the assault, its rider brandishing a pistol aimed in their direction. Bond grasped the fore grip and squinted down the short barrel of the Vector and squeezed the trigger. There was little recoil from the machine gun as the force from the intimidating twelve hundred rounds per minute was directed downward and not back towards the shooter, creating a remarkably controllable and accurate weapon. The oncoming bike wobbled and bucked forward launching its rider into the air and sending him smashing through the rear window of a parked limousine. Both men knew if they could only hold out a few more minutes the local security services would be there in force. The heavy rain though had diminished the effects of the smoke grenades. The assaulting force was advancing in a text book manner. Cover – move – cover – move. They were using assault rifles, possibly Colt Canada C8 carbines. The 5.56mm rounds were rattling off the body of the lorry. Bond kept firing well-aimed bursts of cover and had accounted for two casualties, but the returning fire was increasing in intensity and his ammunition was running low.

Bond tapped M on the shoulder and waved two fingers in the direction of the Metro Station. There were several stranded cars between their current position and the metro, each offered valuable cover.

Bond fired.

M moved in a rapid crouch.

M covered, leashing off four rounds.

As Bond started to follow a concussion grenade landed between him and M. At the last moment he recognized the tell-tale yellow paint marks on the olive coloured canister. The grenade went off, knocking him to the ground.

What Bond recollected next through blurred vision and ringing ears, was later confirmed by the images captured by a CCTV camera above the entrance to the metro station.

M noticed Bond go down. He initially moved into a covering position but needed to reload. It was then that he did something strange. As he ejected the empty magazine, he stood clear of his cover and held the unloaded weapon in one hand the full magazine in the other, both in clear view of his assailants. He appeared to be surrendering when a crimson mist exploded from his right shoulder knocking him backwards, the Beretta flew out of reach. He instinctively started to crawl to recover the weapon, but two men with balaclavas pounced, snatching him up, one on each arm. They roughly bundled him into the Range Rover, which had moved around the stationary vehicles. Bond raised the Vector in a vain attempt to intervene, but immediately realized the vehicle had rapidly moving out of range. The Range Rover sped away as the sound of sirens could be heard over the increasing cracks of thunder.

Bonds training time with the Special Air Service had taught him to deal with the effects of a concussion grenade. He knelt up, shook his head, pinched his nostrils and blew to clear his ears. He assessed the situation. M had been taken and was being driven away at speed in a southerly direction. The place was a war zone and the local police force was closing in. Bond couldn't afford to be held up by all the red tape that would ensue if he was still around when they arrived. Acting swiftly and with purpose he scooped up the discarded Beretta. The loaded magazine had also been dropped close by. He rammed the magazine home and quickly checked the weapon before shoving it in his waistband. He retrieved his mobile phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and tapped an app called "Tracker". As with all high-level personnel M had a tracking device somewhere on or in him. The mobile screen showed a high definition satellite image of Bonds current position; it zoomed out until a red dot could be seen moving along the southern end of Orchard Road. The dot then moved along Bras Basah road. He tapped the screen on his phone and placed it in his inside jacket pocket. The face of his Omega watch faded from its traditional chronograph to a reduced replication of the image on his phone. Bond evaluated the map and concluded he could catch the Range Rover in the right car. He just needed a car.

**0026**

**A sense of déjà vue**

Orchard road was somewhat like a disorganized car show. Vehicles were strewn everywhere, abandoned as people desperately tried to avoid the carnage of the battle. There were some extremely expensive pieces of hardware. Bonds eyes were momentarily drawn to a brand-new blue Aston Martin DBS Superleggera, but it was hemmed in and therefore useless. He moved to the cars on the outer fringe of the road and noticed a red Lotus Evora 400.As he approached the Evora from the side, he couldn't help but notice the sleek lines that somehow made it look as though it were flying, even while standing still. Part of the illusion was created by the rear lightweight forged aluminium wheels that were slightly larger than the front rims. The mid-engine placement also made the exterior features much higher in the back while allowing the front end to cut a deep sloping angle into the wind. Bond quickly walked around the front of the car and noticed it almost took on a human-like, mischievous facial expression, with its slanted hood, wide grill and deep-seated headlights. The owner in his or her panic had left it unlocked with the key still in the ignition. He opened the heavy and solid feeling driver's door and slipped over the narrow low sill and fell into the hand stitched leather bucket seat. He immediately felt a sense of déjà vue in the compact cabin, even though he couldn't ever remember driving a Lotus before. The all leather seats were firm and slippery but extremely comfortable, supportive and cushioned. A combination of Alcantara suede in the seating area and finished leather around the outside would have been more Bonds preference, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The comical little bench seat in the back, was not for human habitation, but was ideal for carrying groceries, a couple of overnight bags, or perhaps a medium-size dog. The boot was no doubt large enough for a set of golf clubs that is, oddly he thought, the standard by which all sports cars' practicalities were measured.

The interior of the Evora certainly held a bespoke air with the matching hand-stitched leather centre console, dashboard and three-spoke wheel. The dashboard was well laid out with easy-to-read instruments including a display screen for viewing the rear-facing camera and rear parking sensor, the Alpine satellite navigation screen seemed a throwback to the 1990s though. Bond turned the ridiculously loud pop music off, which had been playing to its self and then started the engine. A low throaty sound came out of the 3.5-liter V-6, 24-valve, water-cooled, 400-horsepower, all aluminium, Toyota Camry engine with Edelbrock supercharger. The Evora sounded like it was purring at idle with a deep burbling raucous note emitting from the sport exhaust system with its switchable bypass valve. The Pirelli tyres squealed as he sped away. Depressing the throttle hard; the Evora hit sixty mph in just over four seconds. The car was brisk, rather than electrifying. There was no turbo lag from the supercharger. Bond glanced down at his watch.He headed south east on Orchard road towards Emerald Hill road. The carriageway seamlessly morphed into Bras Basah road and then Raffles Boulevard. The iconic Raffles hotel was a blur to his left as he ran the lights at the junction with Beach road and then passed the War Memorial on his right. He swung hard on the steering wheel and took a right using the second lane to turn onto Nicoll Highway. The traction control system, with sport mode engaged allowed for a healthy degree of controlled sliding before reining things in ever so subtly as he barrelled out of the turn. Pedestrians scattered in fear of their lives, but, Bond was in total control. Shooting along the highway, the Evora wasted no time building speed and precisely negotiated its way around slower moving traffic. The steering was tactile and intuitive and required relatively little effort to deliver an immediate response. The car had a solid grip as he strayed on to the pavement without any sideways movement. Bond felt totally connected to the car. He could hear the power as he moved through the gears pushing the Lotus to eighty miles per hour. He glanced in the wing mirror and noticed a motor bike weaving its way through the traffic at speed as they crossed the Esplanade Bridge. It wasn't long before the bike was side by side with the Evora. Bond glanced up at the rider and noticed a pistol being pointed towards him. He looked away and smiled as he caressed the brake pedal with his left foot. The bike pitched forward as the Evora decelerated. Bond then swerved the car to his right clipping the rear wheel of the bike and sending it somersaulting towards the symbolic Merlion statue, which was just out of sight to his left spraying water from its mouth into the Singapore River. The bike and rider crashed into the water sending a plume high in the air and over a group of tourists taking photographs of the half mermaid half lion statue.

**0027**

**The Death pool**

Dressed as a waiter the assassin confidently swiped a security pass at the entrance, collected a tray of drinks from the lounge area and carried it towards the adjacent pool. The President was relaxing in the shallow section, slightly obscured by the fountain of water cascading over him. The bodyguards appeared relaxed and unconcerned by the presence of a waiter bringing much needed liquid refreshment. The assassin approached the first bodyguard and offered him a glass of chilled blood orange juice from the tray. The beverage was eagerly accepted. The assassin then moved nearer the target taking in the location of the other bodyguards. President Adoula moved from under the cooling cascade of water, noticed the advancing waiter carrying refreshments and motioned with his handless arm to approach. As the Assassin, come waiter neared the pools edge a look of recognition appeared across Patrice Adoula's face.

Lightening spiked some way off to his right.

"I know you". Recognition changed to fear "Guards!" the President screamed.

Thunder cracked.

The Assassin dropped the tray, allowing the remaining glasses to fall and shatter at the pools edge. The crimson colour of the blood orange spread ominously into the water. The assassin gracefully moved and snatched the homemade pistol from the waistband of the uniform's trousers, thrusting it outwards towards the target in a two-handed grip. The President, seeing the threat tried to hide behind the submerged lounger. Two of the bodyguards moved to protect him. The third, the one closest to the assassin, moved to engage, but was abruptly stopped by a single bullet to his left thigh as the assassin spun around low to the ground firing the pistol. The assassin then refocused on the primary target. The ceramic sight levelled in the direction of the President. The trigger was calmly, slowly pulled.

Click; there was nothing.

The trigger was pulled again, this time more frantically.

Click

The weapon had jammed. A small printed component had failed. The bodyguards had now recovered their composure and were levelling their machine pistols on the assailant.

The assassin, realising the opportunity had been lost, ran towards the pool. A narrow, slightly submerged partition wall cut across it separating the children's play area from the deeper adult section. The assassin darted across the wall, appearing to run on water as the machine pistol rounds began to pepper the surrounding area. The assassin reached the infinity edge and without hesitation jumped, appearing to commit suicide. One of the bodyguards attempted to follow along the narrow wall but slipped and crashed into the water. The other guard waded through the shallower children's area reaching the edge just in time to see the assassin run along the staff walkway that lay two meters below the pool. The infinity was a clever illusion. The assassin sprinted along the full length of the walkway and vaulted over the glass security gate that separated the resident's area from the public observation deck. Landing on the hard wood deck the assassin rolled, scooped up a pre-positioned backpack and dashed towards the edge of the observation platform. Rain started to fall. The deck was bordered by split glass partitions separated by thick wire. The assassin secured the backpack in place and using one of the tourist telescopes stands as a spring board ascended the glass safety wall and flipped over the edge, plummeting through the air. Seconds seemed like hours as the body fell from the fifty seventh floor. All appeared lost to the shocked observers who witnessed the jumper, another desperate suicide victim. Then, at the simple pull of a cord, a parachute unfurled from the backpack and the jumpers decent was abruptly slowed, gently descended towards the floating football pitch that formed part of the marina bay. The jumper executed a perfectly controlled landing, released the parachute and calmly strode to a waiting Audi A6 that had been parked under the Grand Prix grandstand at turn eighteen of the permanent section of the race track.

**0028**

**EVORA**

The Marina Bay skyline was dominated by the Marina bay Sands hotel. Bond noticed a parachute blossom from just below its observation deck. Another frill seeking base-jumper, no doubt filming themselves for a social media website, he dismissively thought. Bond glanced at his watch as the Lotus left the Esplanade Bridge. He was surprised to notice that the Range Rover was travelling back on its self. He glanced up and immediately realized why. A row of Police cars blockaded both carriageways of the road in front, their lights flashing. Armed police were spread around each vehicle, their weapons pointing in Bonds direction. Bond stamped hard on the brakes and was immediately restrained by his seat belt as his body was violently thrown forward when the Lotus rapidly decelerated. The Servo-assisted brakes worked extremely efficiently. The smell of brake dust burning invaded the cabin and the shrill screech of vulcanized rubber being torn off the pavement assaulted Bonds sensors_. _He pulled hard on the handbrake and spun the car right onto Fullerton Road in front of the old central post office that was now the impressive Fullerton hotel. The back of the Lotus flicked as its tyre's neared the edge of adhesion. The car righted its self as the left side of the body scraped against a set of temporary red and white plastic lane dividers. It then accelerated across the elegant 1910 Anderson Bridge. The bridge comprised of three steel arches with supporting steel ribs extending across them. Two rusticated archways and a fluted pier adorned each end. The Evora with its sports ratio six-speed manual transmission and "Quaife Limited Slip Differential," held the road, assisted by the down force produced by a three-element rear wing. The rigid and strong chassis with independent suspension, anti-roll bar, Eibach springs with Bilstein dampers and a lightweight rear sport diffuser encouraged excellent traction. A volley of bullets from the Police manning the barricade ripped into the intricate plaster and metalwork of the bridge. A couple of rounds tore harmlessly into the fibreglass body of the Lotus. The road split and Bond swerved right speeding along Connaught drive, narrowly missing a street vendor's cart being slowly manoeuvred across the road. The wide green expanse of the Singapore cricket club was now to his left. He noticed a game was in full flow; on another day he mused. He again glanced at his watch and noticed the Range Rover had appeared to slow whilst on Hill Street. The flashing lights of a pursuing white Hyundai Elantra Police car rapidly closing in on him drew his attention to his rear-view mirror. He made an impulsive decision. Swinging the Lotus hard left he mounted the curb. The hard suspension was unforgiving as the car was brutally thrown in the air and landed harshly on the well-groomed grass. Slightly winded Bond pushed down hard on the accelerator and the rear wheels bit into the turf, chewing the ground as the car snaked towards the wicket across the Padang's grassy expanse. The Police car followed its siren becoming more audible above the sound of the Evora's engine by the second. Bond instinctively ducked in his seat as a cricket ball bounced off the Lotus's windscreen cracking it. He felt a slight tinge of guilt as he saw white clad players scattering in all directions. He was heading directly towards the imposingly long and hard fortress like National gallery building. Just as it seemed the car was on a collision course with the immovable stone building, Bond swung it right, it shot off the field, swerved and bounced onto St Andrews road, tyres screaming as they struggled with the limits of lateral adhesion. The Evora graciously recovered with the slightest amount of throttle adjustments that instantly brought the car back in line. Bond pushed hard, took a severe left, slightly under steering on to Coleman Street and then onto the wider Hill street. The Police car was still in unrelenting pursuit. The nose of the Evora rose with every jab on the accelerator and dipped with each application of hard breaking as he negotiated the afternoon traffic and tried to create some distance between himself and the chasing Police vehicle. According to the tracker he was rapidly gaining on the Range Rover, as he sped down Hill Street. The Police car was gaining ground. Bond was pushed firmly into the back of his seat as he again floored the accelerator. He could feel the power of the engine with each millimetre of pressure on the pedal; the power and balance encouraged him to make the most of the grip available. The Police car was being driven with precision and was almost up on him. A single deck bus was blocking the left lane of the carriageway and as the Lotus moved to sweep past the side Bond noticed a flash from a covered pedestrian footbridge that spanned the wide road in front of him. The flashes quickly multiplied as bullets tore into the asphalt road and raked across the Evora's bonnet, puncturing the windscreen and narrowly missing Bonds left arm. He braked heavily and dragged the Lotus behind and around the bus. The Police car took an evasive manoeuvre and smashed into the side of a flatbed lorry transporting garden pottery. Bullets punctured the roof of the bus in search of their prey. The Lotus danced right and smashed through the box hedging that formed part of the central reservation. Oncoming traffic swerved as Bond drove the Evora down the opposite carriageway. He was soon under the footbridge and braced himself for a barrage of bullets as he came out the other side. An opening between the hedging opposite the greenery of Fort Canning Park allowed him to rag the Lotus back onto the correct carriage way. The curb bounced him sideways and he aggressively manoeuvred left then right and left again. Several bullets ripped at the fibreglass body, but none came near hitting Bond; with speed and the cover of traffic he was soon out of range of his assailants. They had wasted their chance to stop him, or so he thought.

The Lotus passed over the Coleman Bridge and across the Singapore River for the third time that day. He was almost across when Bond noticed a stocky man carrying what looked like a short section of drainpipe. He realized what it was at the last possible instance. A flash and burst of smoke erupted from the pipe. A rocket snaked towards the approaching Evora. Bond slammed on the breaks. The force slamming him forward, bruising his chest against the cars seat restraints. The rocket ripped into the surface of the road just in front of the car and exploded, throwing shards of rocket casing and asphalt in all directions. Most of the fibre glass front end was shredded by the explosion, dissipating a large amount of the damaging force away from the driver. The explosion lifted the light weight vehicle into the air and tossed it sideways over the box hedging that separated the road from the pedestrian walkway. The front of the cars naked chassis clipped a Victorian style cast iron street lamp that spun it violently in the air and over the edge of the bridge. The Evora hit the calm water of the Singapore River backwards and began to immediately submerge. Bond was momentarily knocked unconscious by the impact. Murky water sprayed against his face as it began to enter the interior through distorted joints around the doors and the bullet holes in the windscreen. The cool water brought him around. He took a moment to assess his situation. He fought against his instincts to escape the sinking vehicle. Bond realized he had to allow the interior to fill with water before he could attempt to open the door. He removed his seat belt as the car disappeared below the surface and took a deep breath just before the cabin filled. The distorted door took a great effort to open, but Bond pushed hard, and it finally gave way. He kicked himself free and broke the surface beneath the Coleman Bridge. Steps that serviced the river boats were a short distance away and Bond swam towards them, lifting his body out onto the sun warmed stone. Fortunately, his assailant had immediately fled; believing is work to be done. Bond lay, breathing heavily lamenting the lack of an underwater capability on the Lotus. He'd raise it with Q the next time he saw him. He checked his watch. The tracker was still working. It showed the Range Rover passing under the Keppel viaduct as it moved down Kampong Bahru road heading towards Mount Faber. Bond ignored the concerned shouts from passengers on a passing tourist boat. He stood and sprinted up the steps in search of another vehicle. Glancing around his eyes fell upon a Honda trial bike that had been illegally parked overlooking the river; no doubt by a courier who was delivering mail to nearby offices. It was a relatively new bike with a high tech keyless starting mechanism. Bond rotated the dial on his watch, selected the required programme and let Q's genius equipment work its magic. After a couple of seconds, the engine burst into life. Bond straddled the bike, kicked the stand into its rest position and twisted the throttle. He turned left onto New Bridge Road and continued his pursuit of the Range Rover.

**0029**

**Mount Faber**

The Range Rover was half way up the winding road that ascended Mount Faber by the time Bond had caught up. He knew that at the summit was a restaurant, tropical gardens, cable car museum and cable car ride. The cable car connected the main island with the Sentosa Island theme park via a second station that passed through the middle of the Harbour Front tower, a recently built skyscraper. The road around the station was a ring road, so he slowed his pursuit as he considered this must be their destination.

Bond pulled the motor bike into the cable car parking area a short distance away from the parked Range Rover. His watch showed the red dot moving down the Mount Faber hillside in roughly the same trajectory as the cable car. He slipped of the bike and made his way cautiously to the observation deck, Beretta in hand.

Once on the observation deck Bond could see one of the small black gondolas with at least 4 grown men in, one appeared to be slumped to his right, he wondered what their next move would be; helicopter extraction off the top of the Harbour tower or boat extraction from one of the beaches on Sentosa Island. Moving towards the cable car station Bond noticed groups of terrified tourists cautiously breaking cover. An attendant lay motionless in a pool of blood and another was slumped against a wall, a wound to his left leg. Bond switched is mobile to phone mode and called Tanner at the British embassy.

"Bond. M has been taken, can't explain. Get the authorities to send assault teams to the top of Harbour tower and the cable car station on Sentosa Island: Immediately". He switched the phone off, not having any patients for the inevitable questions he would be asked. The simplest action would be to turn the cable motors off he deduced. He walked purposely over to the control booth next to the gondola exit looking for the emergency stop button. As he approached the booth a short athletic oriental man lunged from behind part of the metal frame work of the station, knocking Bonds Beretta into an empty gondola. The man held a small revolver but didn't appear very confident in using it. Bond immediately snatched at the revolver, twisting it in the assailant's hand, nearly snapping his trigger finger. The man screamed in pain as he released the weapon and it fell to the floor, bouncing harmlessly, but for Bond uselessly, out of reach. The assailant although in pain was strong and managed to push Bond to the ground directly in the path of an oncoming gondola. Bond rolled to his right just avoiding being crushed. He sprang to his feet ready for a powerful onslaught but was faced with looking down the barrel of the retrieved revolver, now being held in the man's uninjured left hand.

"Hands behind your head and get in". He motioned towards a vacant gondola.

Bond did as instructed; entered the small black gondola and sat down on one of the padded benches. The oriental man followed him in but did not sit. Instead he stood to one side of Bond staring down at him, in a perceived position of dominance. The doors silently closed behind him and locked in place. The gondola swayed when it was released from its stabilizers and the cable took all the weight as it left the station. The man stumbled and Bond struck. A powerful punch to his solar plexus doubled him up. Instantaneously Bond pushed the man's left hand and revolver violently sideways. The revolver discharged and the bullet punched a neat hole in the toughened glass behind Bond's head. Bonds knee contacted the man's chin as he doubled up from the winding. The man's gun hand was repeatedly smashed against the cabins framework until he released the revolver. It again fell to the floor. Bond knelt to retrieve it and was immediately thrown back by the full weight of his assailant. Bond was pushed against the newly punctured window. Stress cracks began to radiate from the bullet hole. The window, which prevented Bond from a very high fatal fall, was slowly cracking against the combined weight of both men. The Orientals hands were now firmly around Bonds throat and every attempt Bond made to dislodge his grip failed. The sound of the window cracking could now be heard. Bond didn't know which would come first; passing out and suffocation or the window giving way and a long fall to a painful death.

The tropical storm was still in full force and the rain lashed against the gondola. Under normal circumstances cable car operations would have been suspended due to high winds and the possibility of lightning strikes, but this day was far from normal.

Bond was nearing unconsciousness; the gondola shook violent as a gust of wind battered it. The oriental momentarily lost his balance and loosened his grip. Both men slumped onto the padded bench. Bond acted immediately, running his right shoe down the man's shin and applied his full weight forcefully on the bridge of the left foot. Pushing the man back with all his might Bond drove his forehead against his nose. Blood gushed from the flattened nostrils. Bond moved in for the kill. He spun around behind the oriental, positioning the man's head in a vice like grip with his arms. One twist and the neck would be broken.

The Orientals strength again came into play as he forced himself upwards, smashing Bond against the cabins ceiling. Bond released his grip and slipped to the cabin floor. As the oriental twisted round in the confined space his hand touched the cool stainless-steel frame of the revolver on the floor. He scooped it up whilst stamping wildly at the body on the floor. One-foot contacted Bonds groin, causing immense pain. The Oriental straightened up, his arm outstretched, pointing the revolver at Bonds prone body. A triumphant smile spread across his face.

"Get up".

Bond struggled to stand upright. He toppled backwards as the gondola shook from another gust of wind and as he fell onto the bench seat, he raised his left leg and his fingers closed around the grip and trigger of the Smith and Wesson M & P Bodyguard 38 revolver held in the neoprene holster wrapped around his left ankle. He repeatedly squeezed the trigger, firing blindly through the holster until four rounds had been discharged. The first round blew out the damaged window. The second paid him back for the groin kick and the third and fourth rounds hit the oriental squarely in the chest, sending him toppling backwards out through the shattered window.

If he wasn't already dead, he would be in a few seconds thought Bond as he peered through the opening. The driving wind and rain began to invade the gondolas cabin.

"It's unfortunate when someone falls for you unrequitedly" he murmured.

The gondola containing M had entered the Harbour Front station. Bond sat on the bench seat. He was bruised and exhausted and as the rain soaked his torn clothing, he began to feel helpless. The gondola rocked in the wind. It had stopped close to one of the two supporting towers that held the wheels which supported the cable; it had not moved in several minutes. He appreciated the respite and wondered if Tanner had managed to send a rescue team to meet M and his captors. Seconds later he thought he saw lightening flash near the Harbour tower, but soon realized the flashes were from small arms fire. Tanners rescue team must have engaged. He felt impotent as he was forced to wait in the cold, wet, rocking prison; unable to assist. A massive explosion filled the cavity occupied by the station. Flames reached out towards the suspended gondolas, engulfing those nearest to the tower. Bonds gondola shuddered and momentarily dropped as the cable sagged. He stood up and stared at the inferno that was spreading around the Harbour front building; was M safe? Again, the gondola dropped as the cable began to stretch under the intense heat.

"You must be joking". Bond shouted out aloud, was this day ever going to end? He concluded it wouldn't be long before the whole cable network went crashing down to the ground eighty meters below. He turned and looked out of the shattered window. The supporting tower was tantalizingly close, he could almost reach out and touch the V shaped steel frame that held the cable in place. The steel structure was bolted onto a cylindrical concrete tower. A safety fence surrounded an access hatch on top of the tower; Bond presumed it led to a ladder or stairwell. He placed his left foot onto the bottom frame of the window and held onto the top of the frame with both hands as he pushed his body through the gap. The gondola swayed dangerously as he manoeuvred into position. His left hand almost touched the steel frame, but it was just beyond his reach. The gondola shuddered as a second explosion erupted from the Harbour front station. Bond repositioned himself. There was only one thing he could do. He tensed his body and sprang forward, pushing with all his might, his arms stretched forward. The gondola dropped, this time it didn't stop. The cable had snapped and had begun to unravel. Bonds fingers touched and closed around the steel frame, then slipped. He desperately scrambled to hold onto the frame, but his fingers couldn't find purchase. The cable was thrashing around like a dying serpent still searching to inflict one last fatal blow; whipping against the tower, narrowly missing Bond as it violently unravelled. Bond fell, dropping three meters; he smashed hard against the safety fence and then bounced back onto the concrete floor of the tower. The impact purged his body of air and he faded into unconsciousness.

Rain splattered against Bonds face as he lay prone on top of the tower; its wetness and gentle massage revived him. He rolled onto his side, groaned as his body protested the exertion and movement. He stood, supporting himself by holding onto the safety fence. Time was meaningless. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. The scene before him was nothing short of apocalyptical. Gondolas were crumpled wrecks on the ground below. Two had fallen onto the freeway; several vehicles were scattered across the carriageway as a result. Lights flashed and sirens wailed as emergency and security vehicles darted frantically around the utter chaos. Helicopters buzzed the Harbour front tower and one landed on the top. The fire from the explosion had almost been extinguished as the buildings integrated fire suppression system had efficiently done its job. Bonds legs gave way and he slumped against the fence. Pain and the realization that M could not have survived the explosion hit him hard.

**0030**

**Singapore Sling.**

The headlines on the large LED screen read "Day of terror" as the news broadcast detailed the aftermath of the Orchard road gun battle and the assassination attempt on President Adoula. The picture then changed to a News Asia reporter. The reporter was stood across from the Harbour tower. The sound was muted, but subtitles explained that fire fighters had managed to extinguish the fire that had been caused by the explosion. A photograph of M flashed on the screen with a header entitled Breaking news British MI6 chief believed killed during an abduction attempt by suspected terrorists.

Bond sat contemplating the last few hours as he glared at the television that adorned the nearby wall. His left foot mindlessly grinding discarded peanut shells into the mosaic tiled floor. The Long bar at Raffles was the only place in Singapore where littering was legally allowed. It was tradition to toss peanut shells onto the floor after you had enjoyed the complementary snack. He downed a tumbler of Yamazaki 18-year-old Japanese 43% proof whisky, letting the rich and oily liquid coat his tongue and effortlessly slip down his throat. The taste was of autumn fruits and reminded him of Christmas pudding. The nose had a hint of char, oak, fruit, caramel, vanilla and a spicy character he considered was a likely attribute of the mizunara Japanese oak casks used during maturation. He liked the luxurious and sherry style that had recently grown in popularity in the Asian markets. It was one of the finest whisky's he had ever tasted and so it should be with the hefty price tag of one thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight Singapore dollars a bottle. He signalled the waiter to replenish his empty glass with the deep amber coloured liquid and requested he leave the bottle. The Long bar was synonymous with the renowned pink cocktail called the Singapore sling, which had been created by bar captain Ngiam Tong Boon in 1915 and had become a symbol of Singapore; but Bond was in no mood to sample the tourists' favourite. It didn't have anywhere near enough alcohol in it. He believed it to be a lady's drink. He was in the mood for whisky, so he'd demanded the barman go down to collect the specific bottle of Yamazaki from the hotels extensive range of international whiskies that resided in the Bar and Billiards room.

The two-storey Long bar was located on the second floor of the Raffles hotel. The decor was in the style of a 1920's Malayan plantation with oriental carpets overlain on tiled floors and paddle fans gently wafting in the rafters. Bond was slumped in a traditional teak lounge chair; he emptied his tumbler in one gulp. As he lent forward to replenish his glass from the bottle his attention was drawn away from the screen by a woman descending the ornate timber spiral staircase which connected the second level of the Long bar. She wore a light green silk dress, cut just above the knee and slashed to momentarily reveal glimpses of her thigh as she walked. High-heeled shoes enhanced her well-toned calf muscles, showcasing her faultless legs. She walked slowly and possessed the perfect posture. He decided the woman was of Chinese descent, in her mid-thirties and exceptionally attractive. James Bond couldn't help but smile as she turned to face him. He instantly recognised her from the previous night. Any other time he wouldn't have been able to resist getting re-acquainted, but this was no normal time. After extricating himself from the cable tower he had been held by the Singapore police until Bill Tanner had cut through the red tape with his usual efficiency. Bond had been ordered to stand down and return to the UK on the next available flight, which happened to be in the early hours of the following morning. A dishonourable discard or worse no doubt awaited him. He wasn't happy, but the recall had been a direct order from the Prime Minister. The peanut shells took an extra pounding under foot.

"May I?" the woman in the silk dress enquired; she indicated towards a chair next to Bond.

"Feel free". Bond offhandedly replied. "I doubt I'll be good company though".

She sat down and placed a half empty glass of Singapore sling onto the rattan table in front of them. The cocktail was gin based and primarily contained pineapple juice along with grenadine, lime juice and do Benedictine. The addition of cherry brandy and Cointreau gave it a pink hue.

"A girl's drink!" Bond pointed to the cocktail slightly slurring.

"Yes. That is what it was invented for and very fitting that last time I looked in a mirror". The woman gently crossed her long legs. The silk dress clung to her taught body. Something Bond couldn't help but notice and appreciate. "It looks like you've had a busy day". Her English was excellent with almost no accent and spoken with soft, clipped vowels. She pointed towards the TV screen. Bond tensed with this unexpected familiarity.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure; although you do seem familiar". He held out his left hand pretending not to recognise her.

"Liu Jia" she reciprocated the greeting; pronouncing Jia as Chyah "Mr Bond".

"Call me James. Now we are so well acquainted. You're either an astute reporter or we work in the same business". He squeezed her hand.

Liu Jia's eyes widened, revealing deep brown widening pupils as she felt the pain increase in her left hand. She regained her composure as the pressure subsided "let's just say we have a common interest in the DRC and the familiarity stems from last night. You literally knocked me over". She released Bond's hand, but not before giving a token, defiant squeeze back. "I'm distressed you have forgotten me so quickly".

"I can only apologies, but of course; Eden Hall. I'm ashamed to say too much Whisky can have a cruel effect on the memory. I ashamedly stumbled into you. I can only hope you accept my sincere apologies".

"You appear to have a taste for whisky". Jia just smiled. Her face was broad and high boned, with skin almost Caucasian, but slightly darker. Her shade of skin pointed towards her parentage. Her Mother was English and Father Chinese.

"Let me guess. Singapore's ISD, The Internal Security Department or given your interest in the Congo, MSS, Chinese Ministry of State Security?" Bond took a sip of his freshly replenished whisky satisfied with his deduction and in part recognition of her observation.

"Let's just say I currently do not work for anyone. It is to everyone's mutual benefit that stability returns to the DRC and I believe." emphasizing the "I", "that President Adoula can dramatically affect that outcome. What happened today puts everything in jeopardy".

Bond scanned the Long bar. It was quiet, fortunately the ex-pat brigade hadn't finished work yet and there wasn't a heavy tourist presence, only a family, who were enjoying dipping satay sticks into peanut sauce, were sat in the far corner of the bar; well away from anything that was being said. The bar staff were professionally discrete and kept their distance. The mechanical fans gently moved back and forth.

"I'm afraid I'm off the case". He glanced at his Omega Seamaster. "I'm returning to London in a few hours".

"What would you say if I told you I have a lead to who is behind all this and I could do with some assistance following it up".

"I'd say inter-agency cooperation has always been fraught with difficulties, so why me?"

"Let's say we would have to go _off piste_. I have personal reasons for pursuing this, which my government doesn't approve of. You Mr Bond look like a man who has unfinished business. I suspect you aren't used to walking away".

"What I need is another drink". Bond waved to the barman catching his attention "Another one of these" pointing towards Jia's empty glass and then refilled his empty tumbler by draining the bottle.

"If you agree, our train doesn't depart until tomorrow. In the mean time we can hold up here in the hotel. I have a suite if you would like to discuss my proposition further". She hesitated "in private". Jia didn't wait for a reply. She uncrossed her long legs, the split in her dress parted revealing a silky-smooth thigh. She then lent forward and grasped the freshly delivered drink, stood up and walked towards the exit. Bond downed the Yamazaki in one gulp, released a wad of high denomination dollars from his wallet and placed it on the table next to the empty bottle. There was no expectation of any change. He followed Jia onto the veranda which overlooked the shopping arcade with its pretty palm and frangipani tree-fringed interior courtyard that was bordered by a collection of high-end shops busy with a steady flow of tourists seeking solace from the humidity. They walked down a staircase onto one of the curved pathways that skirted the lawn. Jia led Bond around the front façade of the hotel and up the low, wide marble stairs that ran to a distinctive veranda, its awning held up by slim pillars. A turbaned, liveried doorman, watching from the shaded porch, stepped forward to meet them. Dressed in his starched white uniform, he looked pristine and struck an imposing figure. He said "Hello" and directed both inside, happy that they were appropriately dressed. Bond stepped through the wrought iron portico into the airy, all-white foyer. He looked around; well-heeled tourists sat on antique brocade chairs reading broadsheet newspapers whilst sipping tea from bone china cups. Antique china vases were filled with fresh flowers. The hotel retained an old-world gravitas and was the most perfect oasis right in the middle of one of the most vibrant cities in the world. He was reminded of the words of Somerset Maugham "Raffles stands for all the fables of the exotic east. Fables, exotic, east: those words were charged with the promise of adventure…" His shoulders began to drop as he raised his eyes looking up at the grand vaulted lobby past the stacked white marble colonnades with their Corinthian columns that supported gently rotating ceiling fans and ornate chandeliers that provided a yellowish light which reflected off the teak wood of the staircases and open walkways. He stepped back almost losing his balance. He looked around slightly embarrassed at his current state and caught the eye of an upright blonde-haired man who was watching his arrival with curiosity and amusement from the comfort of a straight-backed armchair, discreetly placed at the edge of the room. The man grinned conspiratorially his eyes hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses and face shaded by a cream panama hat.

"It's been a long day". Bond slurred, momentarily thinking the man looked familiar. Jia linked her arm with his and guided him towards the Eastern & Oriental Express check in desk. Their footsteps rang out on the polished white marble floor. Jia handed over two tickets to the concierge. The man behind the desk bobbed his head slightly, pleased to have made the connection.

"A Limousine will transport you to the train station. It will depart at 9 am". The concierge was extremely efficient. Custom formalities would fortunately be dealt with at the train station. Bond reminded himself to retrieve his emergency passport from the lining of his suit jacket. The passport was issued in the name of David Brown. He confirmed the time on his watch with the old grandfather clock that had stood in the same position at the far end of the lobby, since 1887. The time was seventeen twenty. Jia tightly held Bonds hand as she led him across the marble floor and up the sweeping red carpeted white central staircase. They continued upward onto the third floor and walked to the end of the spacious open-air hallway.

Jia placed the card key against the sensor and was rewarded with a reassuring click as the door unlocked. She pushed the twelve-foot-high door open and momentarily held it for Bond to follow. He bumped into the frame and realising his inebriated state smiled and winked at Jia. The room was a suite. It was large, airy and exuded warmth and character. Bond considered it felt just like home; a very ornate, expensive home but nevertheless very comfortable. The style was inspired by the early Colonial bungalows of the 1920s, evoking the romance and history of the period. The luxurious king-sized bed with turned, fluted half-posts that matched the gleaming teak floordominated the centre of the room. A fan spun lazily overhead from the fourteen-foot-high ceiling. All the furniture was period; a French colonial table furnished with Audubon silver flatware and matching china from Tiffany & Co, two early twentieth century Cantonese Blackwood recliners and a coffee table from the early twentieth century finely inlaid with mother-of-pearl scenes were positioned to one side; Bond noticed a recent edition of the Economist neatly folded, unread on the top.

"I'm just going to freshen up. Could you help me please?" Jia indicated towards the small hook and zip at the back of her dress. Just as Bond moved to oblige there was a knock on the door.

"Champagne?" Bond spoke quietly; hoping it was room service.

Jia shook her head; a concerned expression was etched on her face. She indicated to Bond to stand to one side, out of immediate view. As the door opened, she was confronted by the dark eye of a Glock 42 barrel held by the blonde-haired man who Bond had briefly spoken to in the foyer. She gasped in fear, feigning shock and began to raise her arms in submission. Her right hand though was out of sight. The index finger raised instructing Bond not to take action.

"Stand back. Where is he?" the man spoke with a precise English accent.

Jia didn't reply. Actions did the speaking. Her movements were fast, fluid and violent. She grasped the Glock with both hands, twisting it away from her and loosened the man's grasp. Her thumb pressed hard on the magazine eject button, releasing the fully loaded magazine, which dropped harmlessly to the floor. She then pushed the slide back and ejected the chambered round. The gun was now next to useless. The man's arm was forcefully pulled downwards whilst Jia's knee moved upwards contacting hard against his chin. With fluidity she twisted her body using its weight and momentum to smash his head hard against the wooden door frame, knocking him unconscious. The whole action was over in seconds, barely enough time for Bond to react in his intoxicated state. He stood in shock, feeling helpless, not for the first time that day.

"James, there's some plasti-cuffs in the bedside cabinet. Get a couple and then help me drag him next door". Bond unquestionably did as instruct. They both dragged the limp, relatively light body the short distance to the next suite. The hallway was fortunately devoid of any guest or hotel staff. Jia removed another key card from beneath the neckline of her dress and opened the door.

"I always keep a second room for occasions like this". She explained, almost convincingly. The man was heaved roughly into the room face down and his hands and feet were secured by the tie wrap plasti-cuffs. Bond rolled him over so he could look at his face. Even though the man's features were bloodied and bruised he immediately recognised who lay in front of him.

"Hello 0011". He slurred then laughed. "Good girl. He'll never live this down". A large medical plaster was obtained from the first aid box that was located in the bathroom and placed over the man's mouth. His body was checked for identification, but none could be found. The door was then closed and locked. The maid would find him after they had checked out the following morning. Both Jia and Bond returned to their suite.

"Now, where were we?" Jia turned her back towards Bond and lifted her hair clear of the zip at the rear of her dress. Bond initially fumbled in his attempt to flick the hook in a single, skilful movement, but eventually completed the task and pulled the zip downwards. Jia glanced back over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Someone obviously wants you out of the way". She then walked forward allowing the silk dress to fall onto the large 1930's carpet that had been hand-woven in Iran. She stepped out of the crumpled dress, still wearing her high heels and a silk g string and continued walking over the glistening teakwood flooring into the marble clad bathroom.

Bond didn't reply he just removed his jacket and dropped it on one of the recliners; it slipped gently to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, ran his hands over the fresh, cotton sheets. He contemplated his next actions; fall asleep, follow Jia into the shower or check the room for hidden surveillance devices. A life time of training kicked in. He needed to check the room out. He kicked his shoes off and felt the hand knotted oriental carpet that partially covered the polished teak floor spring gently under foot.

Bond lifted the Gilt framed prints that hung from the wall behind the bed and noted they were from Sir Stamford Raffles' scholarly History of Java which had been published in London in 1870. There were no listening devices hidden behind. A bar in the corner of the room contained a bottle of Krug, as well as a 2007 Vincent Girardin Chassagne-Montrachet. He handled the Krug but closed the fridge door electing to take a drink of chilled water from an ornate cut crystal water bottle that sat on the top of the bar. The champagne could wait just a little longer. His sweep of the suite didn't take long, and he found it to be clean of any uninvited monitoring equipment. Amongst all the vintage artefacts that could easily have furnished a museum there was also an ultra-modern broadband internet modem, the compulsory Lavazza espresso machine and a 55-inch flat screen LED 4K ultra-high definition television which proved more difficult to check, but thanks to Q's little _Swiss army_ watch wasn't impossible. He opened the twin doors and immediately realized how effective the double-glazing had been at blocking out the urban noise. The doors were flanked by Chinoiserie pots that were filled with plants that brought the greenery from outside in. He stepped onto the private veranda that looked out over a sweeping private lawn towards the original beach front area that was now called Beach Road. The lawn was bordered by palm, banana trees and frangipani that shielded the hotel from Singapore's growing sea of skyscrapers that jutted like mismatched teeth up into the darkening sky. It had started to rain and become breezy. Bond sat on one of the two colonial-style teak-and-cane chairs that furnished the veranda. He took a moment to listen as the tropical rainstorm increased in pace; the heavy droplets rhythmically hitting the leaves of the surrounding tall trees and frangipani drowning out the ever-present background noise of fiddling crickets. It had been a long day. The pain that screamed from almost every part of his body reminded him of that. He almost succumbed to the creeping lure of sleep when he heard the shower in the bathroom stop. It was a small audible change amongst the tropical rain and noise of the traffic, but such was the heightened state of his sensors, even in their current numbed state. He stood up and strode into the bedroom and retrieved the bottle of Krug from the bar. He then peeled the foil from the bottle neck, loosened the wire, released the cork and filled two crystal flutes to the top. He carried both into the bathroom. The room was clad in a cream marble with ornate fixtures and an oversized elaborate mirror that hung above the double sinks.

Jia stood in front of the mirror wrapped in a large white bath towel. She was drying her glossy black hair with another towel. Bond handed her the champagne flute, as he took a sip from his own. She smiled and giggled as the fizzing bubbles tickled the tip of her nose. After gulping a third of its contents straight down, she placed the glass on the sink next to a selection of Fragonard grooming products. Bond dropped his empty glass in the wicker hamper that was normally reserved for wet towels; Jia wrapped her arms around his neck.

"James Bond you are shuài gē (帅哥) an handsome man, a lady killer".

"I'm not sure I would agree. I always thought that Chinese considered the beauty of a man lies in his personality and charm, not in appearance. At the moment those are not my finest qualities".

"Jiànméi xīng mù (劍眉星目)". She spoke softly and noticing Bonds confused expression explained "That means: eyebrows like swords give you a sharp feeling. Your eyes reveal an infectious personality, like the stars shining in the night".

"Ok". Bond was slightly bemused but didn't really care. He slid his thumbs between Jia's warm body and the towel. The bath towel loosened and slipped to the floor revealing her damp naked body. She pulled his face down to hers and their lips crashed together with bruising force. Bond lifted her and spun her around pushing her hard against the teak wood panelled closet doors that formed the entrance to the bathroom. He groaned as his damaged body complained at the exertion. Jia fumbled with the buttons on Bonds shirt, but quickly gave into frustration and ripped them open. The buttons popped in all directions; plinking on the tiled floor.

"Steady. I don't have another". Bond complained as their locked lips momentarily parted. Jia forcibly pulled him towards her. Her erect nipples pressed against his bare chest.

"That is all in hand Mr. Bond". Bond smiled at the innuendo as she tugged at his belt. His trousers, shirt and underwear were soon crumpled in a pile on the cool marble floor as they tumbled backwards into the bedroom and onto the cloud like bed.

"Now tell me why you keep cuffs next to your bed?"

Bond woke the next morning with a rare hangover. His forehead felt like it would split under the immense pressure that had built up behind his eyes. He could still taste the whisky, but this time it wasn't pleasant, and his mouth was completely devoid of moisture. Each intake of breath was tinged by the spirits aroma. He looked up to the high ceiling and the chandelier with its delicate golden whorls and sighed. The room was full of the aroma of freshly made coffee.

Jia sat at the dressing table carefully applying make up to her face; enhancing what most would already consider beautiful. Bond studied her reflection in the mirror. He noticed she was applying her makeup sparingly; using slightly darker than usual neutral tones around her eyes. Her cheekbones were emphasized by the lightest shade of plum. Her skin was flawless; not the pure white skin that traditional Chinese beauty standards dictated, but slightly tinted by the sun; this either pointed towards her being mixed race or indicated she had spent some time in the west. Having white skin was an old Chinese beauty standard that stemmed from ancient traditions; where only the wealthy classes had creamy, unblemished white skin, untainted by the sun as they did not work in the fields as the peasants did. That was the reason why modern-day Chinese girls desire a white, smooth skin just like jade. He thought of the Chinese expression that praised white skin: Yībáizhēsānchǒu "a white complexion is powerful enough to hide seven faults". Bond wondered if Jia's had any faults but knew the shade of her skin would have made her upbringing difficult in the notoriously conservative China.

Jia wore a light weight white cotton dressing gown covering her otherwise naked body. Bond could feel the stirrings of arousal.

"Good morning". She said as she noticed his reflection in the mirror.

"Is it?" he croakily replied.

"Our transfer will arrive in an hour, so there's a coffee on the machine and there are some clothes in the wardrobe over there. They should fit". She pointed to the Lavazza machine and then a wardrobe with tall doors near the bathroom. "Oh, and there are two tablets on your bedside table. I assume you've got a headache".

Bond climbed out of bed naked, scooped up the white lozenge shaped tablets in his hand and washed them down with a gulp of black coffee.

"Why do I feel like I was taken advantage of last night and you clearly can handle yourself, so why the need for my assistance?" Bond was abrupt and to the point. He didn't receive an answer.

He rubbed his aching temple as he sipped the hot coffee and opened the wardrobe to inspect the clothes. There was a pair of mid grey trousers with a matching jacket, two short sleeved Sea Island cotton shirts, one light blue and one white and a navy-blue polo shirt. A black dinner jacket, trousers and white evening shirt hung by their side. All appeared to be the right size.

"Don't tell me your husband had to return home in a hurry and he just happens to be the same build and size as me?"

"No James. I sized you up when I saw you last night. After what occurred I knew you wouldn't want to return to Eden Hall if you accepted my offer. So, I took the opportunity to purchase some items from the Raffles arcade whilst you were drowning your sorrows in the Long Bar". Bond raised his right eyebrow.

"You have been a busy girl".

"We are a couple celebrating our anniversary". Jia elaborated on their cover.

"Perhaps our Silver?"

"Given that I am only thirty-five. That would raise a few eyebrows!"

"Our first anniversary then". Bond conceded.

"The first of many I hope?" Jia's smile was infectious. She then looked away slightly embarrassed and changed the subject. "There's also something else in the travel bag".

Bond retrieved the blue leather Bill Emberg bag from the bottom of the wardrobe and unzipped it. There were two small felt covered boxes and a large plastic box. He picked up the smaller boxes and flicked their lids open. Two gold wedding rings stared back at him, one slightly smaller than the other.

"Full marks for being thorough". Bond tossed the box with the smaller ring over to Jia, who caught it in one hand. He then placed the larger ring on his ring finger. Bond then pulled out a plastic box, opened it and beamed. His finger slipped around the grip of a Beretta Nano. There was also a double pouched De-Santis N84 2in Patriot shoulder holster made of durable padded ballistic nylon and high friction synthetic suede. The pouches held two spare magazines.

"You have impeccable taste miss Liu or should I say Mrs Brown?"

**0031**

**THE EASTERN AND ORIENTAL EXPRESS**

Mr and Mrs Brown walked down the staircase into the lobby arm in arm. The humidity was rising. Jia wore a lightweight cream silk trouser suit. The trousers were flared, and she wore nothing under the jacket. A large floppy hat would provide much needed shade from the morning sun. Her hair was neatly folded beneath revealing her slender neck. Bond wore the grey suit and White Sea island cotton shirt. They headed towards the dedicated Eastern and Oriental check in desk and were efficiently dealt with by the smiling concierge. The happily married couple were then shuttled, by a private limousine, to the Woodlands Train Checkpoint fifteen miles north of downtown Singapore. At Woodlands they passed through Singapore exit formalities and Malaysian immigration checks without issue and headed onto the platform to board the train. Stewards in traditional maroon silk waist coats and white mandarin collared shirts greeted them and directed them to their correct carriage.

The first glimpse of the train didn't disappoint Bond. Its gleaming exterior was breathtakingly beautiful. The handsome British racing green and cream-coloured carriages had been painted in thick lustrous coats and were embossed with the iconic Eastern & Oriental Express crest and signs detailing the trains route;

**Singapore – Kuala Lumpur**

**Butterworth – Bangkok**

The colonial style train cars oozed memories of a foregone era. The very name conjured up an exotic world of lush tropical scenery and plush luxuriousness, of old-fashioned courtesy and conviviality, of adventure and excitement and life-enhancing encounters. It was purposely designed to evoke the atmosphere of the 1932 Marlene Dietrich film Shanghai Express.

The Eastern & Oriental Express was created in 1992 by Orient Express Trains. The train consisted of Japanese-built coaches which were originally used for the short-lived _Silver Star_ sleeper service from Auckland to Wellington in New Zealand. The cars were shipped over to Malaysia and totally rebuilt internally to luxury standards with en-suites to every compartment for the modern cruise train market.

There were twenty-two steel-tube cars all fully air-conditioned with all the facilities of a 5-star hotel - two dining cars, on this journey, named Malaya and Rosaline, two bars; a piano-bar car and a saloon car, a well-stocked library and an open-air observation lounge car at the rear. The other cars contained sleeping compartments for one hundred and thirty-two passengers and forty-six staff, including a reflexologist and a piano player. Each sleeper car was home to twelve private compartments; each car was managed by its own personal steward.

Jia and Bond were directed to the fifteenth car where they were met by Prakash, one of the twenty personal stewards that assisted and served the guests; He was smartly dressed in a Malaysian style uniform and stood with his hands pressed together in a gracious _wai_ gesture – a promise of the memorable journey to come.

Prakash, an enthusiastic young man of Indian Malayan decent had an infectious smile as he organised the delivery of his passenger's luggage from the curb-side drop off to each room. He noted both passengers were travelling light and only carried a medium sized bag each, which didn't need storing in the baggage car, they also declined Prakash's offer to carry their luggage. Before boarding Bond evaluated the other passengers. They were a mixed bunch, in terms of both nationality and age. Early retired silver-haired septuagenarians keen to explore parts of the world they missed in their youth; Bond held Jia's hand tightly as he identified couples celebrating special occasions such as birthdays and anniversaries; a mother with her 20-year-old daughter; a Korean couple and their teenage grandson; a flamboyant gay couple; an American serviceman enjoying a break from duties in Afghanistan; one or two singles of indeterminate age. Most wore light linens in the balmy heat of the afternoon. There were no obvious threats.

They climbed the short step on board, assisted by a brass hand rail; Jia gasped. The interior was nothing short of magnificent, although the corridors were narrow due to the narrow gauge of the track. Cherry wood and burr elm panelling with brass attachments were perfectly fitted alongside exquisite fabrics and Jim Thompson Thai silks, Malaysian embroidery and hand-tufted carpets from local Thai rug makers. The beige curtains were embroidered, scalloped and with perfect passementerie.

Prakash directed the couple to their cabin; one of the two Presidential Suites. He opened the door, stepped into the room and held the door open for Jia and then Bond to enter. The cabin had been cooled by air conditioning.

"If you require my assistance all you have to do is press this bell". Prakash pointed to the brass bell button on the cabin wall labelled service. He then served them both a lemongrass-flavoured welcome drink in Champagne flutes. He explained that the room had complimentary Wi-Fi and showed them the mini bar that was stocked with a selection of spirits, local beer, soft drinks and chocolate before leaving. Bond identified a chilled bottle of non-vintage Lois Roederer Brut Premier Champagne. The suite was large by train cabin standards; each Presidential suite covered one hundred and twenty-five square feet and took up half a train car. The Suite mirrored the panelling found in the corridor with decorative marquetry friezes and intricate design inlays enhanced the fine fabrics and carpets and gave an atmosphere of warm elegance. Bond thought it something akin to a private club in Mayfair on wheels. The cabin was configured as a private lounge with pink and light green patterned banquette style sofa and fixed chair, and two movable chairs in front of a small writing desk that unfolded from beneath the panoramic window. The table held fresh flowers and a fruit basket. The fixed daytime seating would be converted, by Prakash, to two single beds at night, whilst the occupants enjoyed dinner. A private en suite shower, washbasin and toilet stocked with Bulgari toiletries set the cabin apart from its European cousin, the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express. The lack of en-suite aside Bond considered the cousin to be all a bit theatrical these days. A wardrobe and small safe completed the room. Bond placed both of their travel bags on the brass luggage rack positioned above the window and hung the suit carrier in the small wardrobe. Jia unpacked her travel bag. She removed two pistols from a false bottom section of the bag, Bonds Beretta and a Norinco QSZ-92 handgun. Both were placed in the safe. She then unwrapped the foil from the neck of the champagne bottle, popped the cork and poured the effervescing contents into two flutes. Bond graciously accepted one just as the 1975 Alstholm ALS diesel electric locomotive thundered to life and began to take the strain of the twenty-two carriages. With a jolt and slop of champagne the largest passenger train in Southeast Asia began to inch forward starting a journey that spanned 1,250 mile andcrossed three countries.

The trains' length covered half a kilometre of tracks. After leaving the bustling city of Singapore, the landscape became quaintly rural; the train passed small villages 'kampongs' and acres of rubber plantations. It churned through Singapore, the narrower gauge giving a somewhat bumpier ride than Bond had expected_. _The train past large Western-style homes with bonsai-perfect manicured gardens oozing a general orderliness and countless bold, clean construction projects. Each screamed the progress that epitomised Singapore; the couple raised their flutes in salutation and then kissed.

"Mrs Brown where do you come from and what kind of family have I married in to?" Bond whisper into Jia's right ear, gently probing for information about his new wife.

"You really should have asked this before we were married James! I was born in Hong Kong, my mother, Maria, was born in Manchester, England; a school teacher who spent 15 years working in the orient. Hong Kong was where she met my father, Liu Cheng, a native Civil servant. Five years after they met, they were married, shortly afterwards I was born".

"And what are my mother and father in law doing now?"

"My mother died of a heart attack in 1990 and my father passed away in 2001. It's a long time ago". Jia pre-empted Bonds embarrassment and then deflected the awkwardness by excitedly pointing out a flock of white Snow egrets that raced the train across the strait before peeling away_._

After twenty minutes the trees and buildings dissipated as they approached the Causeway that spanned the straits of Johor. Bond held Jia close to him as they entered Malaysia. He smiled when they passed an old British style semaphore signal that was still in operation; another example of the old mixing with the ultra-new. The causeway was built in 1923 to link Singapore Island with mainland Malaya. It carried the single-track railway, a road, and several huge pipes carrying Singapore's fresh water supply. The E&O entered Malaysia and passed through Johor Bharu's new Central Station and headed up the Malay Peninsula past palm oil plantations and wayside colonial stations named Gemas and Tampin. It felt like a different planet. The painstaking precision and freshly painted cuteness of Big Brother Singapore gave way to life on a more human scale; a dilapidated home, a group of men working in a field. There were palm trees: tall ones and small ones; creeper-clad ones and bare ones; ones that looked like gangling debutantes or flouncing cabaret dancers. This was Johor, the fiefdom of the Temenggung Sultanas, and famous for its palm oil and rubber that once attracted the British entrepreneurs to setup plantations. From time to time they would glimpse a modern highway with shoppers waiting at red-tiled bus stops, or children waving from dusty back yards.

Bond guided Jia down onto the sofa. The bumpy ride had become rhythmic. He held her from behind and kissed the nape of her neck whilst massaging her shoulders. His nose gently nudged the diamond stud in her left ear, and she could hear his increased breathing as his hands slowly moved down her arms, reached across her taught stomach and effortlessly unbuttoned her silk jacket. Jia looked up and back towards Bonds face offering him her lips. He kissed her delicately as the jacket slipped from her shoulders, crumpling around her waist on the sofa. His lips returned to Jia's neck as his hands cupped her naked breasts. His breath was hot on her skin. As he nibbled his way across her left shoulder, he noticed something he had not been sober enough to see the night before; a small tattoo in black ink. The writing was in an elaborate swirling font; three letters that he assumed were initials: LQJ.

"Liu Q Jia" he spoke softly "Jia translates to Beautiful; I know that and more ominously Liu means kill, but what's the Q stand for?"

"That dear husband is part of my mystique". She twisted and gazed into his eyes.

Bond had not fully appreciated how beautiful Jia was. She was without doubt physically attractive, but even with the minimum of makeup she possessed a natural beauty that was intoxicating. He explored her face and was drawn into her intense, large, coco brown eyes that were framed by thin and arched moth – feeler eyebrows, long curled eyelashes that stemmed from her eyelids. He gently brushed his fingertips across her left eyelid, feeling the delicate fold that gave the illusion of a double eyelid.

"Shuāng yǎnpí" Bond whispered, hoping his pronunciation and interpretation of the double-folded eyelid was correct. Jia giggled with pleasure at Bonds attempt at her native tongue. The double eyelid was simply a creasing of the skin over the eye that formed a lining on the eyelid. He wondered whether Jia's were natural or whether she had resorted to cosmetic surgery, like many young fashionable Chinese girls did; Cháng yǎnjing, slim eyes with dān yǎn pí single-fold eyelids were not considered beautiful in China. He decided on natural. Hot air emitted from his nostrils caressed her skin as he studied her face; he noticed the foundation and blusher that had been expertly applied masked a scar on her right cheek, just above the angular jaw line: Something else he had not noticed the night before. Bonds fingers moved to trace the line of the inch-long scar, causing Jia to recoil from him and look down towards the floor.

"There's nothing to be ashamed with having a scar. Look I have one" Bond held Jia's left hand and guided her fingers across the furrow on his right cheek "They add character. Each one tells a story".

"Yes, they do" Was all Jia would say.

"You have a beautiful face Jia". Bonds finger stroked the pronounced bridge of her nose.

"Yes, people have told me it is é'dànliǎn. Shaped like a goose egg". Jia acknowledged his observation, describing the shape as being the traditional Chinese ideal of beauty.

"That sounds so delicious". Jia placed both hands on Bonds cheeks and guided his lips to hers. They kissed passionately. Bonds tongue brushed her lips and probed her mouth as she reciprocated. After what seemed an eternity he pulled away and glanced at his watch. "Well my dear mysterious wife, it's a while before dinner. What shall we do?" His right hand removed the clip that had held her hair tightly in place allowing it to tumble around her shoulders and cover the small tattoo.

"What indeed dear husband".

An hour past and as the train travelled up the Malaysian peninsula the luscious tropical rainforest and expansive green paddy fields became more prevalent. Jia took in the view as she dried her hair, after showering, whilst Bond enjoyed a shower and marvelled at the surprisingly powerful water pressure. The loud speaker came to life with a crackling message,

'Gentlemen would feel comfortable in a minimum of jacket and tie for dinner".

**0032**

**Rosaline**

The heat of the afternoon had been replaced by the balm and gentler golden diffused light of early evening as a blood orange sun began to set. Jia and Bond entered the dining car named "Rosaline" at 6.00pm for the first sitting. The restaurant dazzled with its silk wall coverings and upholstered armchairs. It was lavishly decorated with rosewood and elm panelling. Understated elegance was the key. Evening attire was a mixture of old styles; formal and a more relaxed style known as tropical elegance. Black tie was optional; linen shirt and trousers would have been more comfortable and an ideal alternative for the warmer climate; several of the other diners had adopted that style but Bond felt at ease in his tuxedo. Thankfully no one, even the Americans, had elected to wear jeans, shorts or trainers. A pleasant waist coated waiter directed them to their Victorian- styled table on the left side of the carriage. The table had place settings for two with gleaming crystal and silverware set out on a crisp white table cloth. Après-Lalique glass rose lampshades cast a subdued light.

Jia and Bond nibbled at focaccia bread whilst browsing the menu. The meal was three courses plus an amuse-bouche and petits fours.

"Now Miss Liu, are you going to tell me why we are here?" Bond held Jia's left hand and tenderly squeezed it, but the expression on his face was deadly serious.

"What do you know of Zaire and President Mobutu Sese Seko, James?"

"Mobutu ruled Zaire for 30 years; he seized power during the 1960s, following a military coup and the assassination of the democratically elected Patrice Lumumba; he changed the name of the country from Congo to "Zaire" in 1971. By the mid-1990s Mobutu was dying of cancer and had abandoned Kinshasa, the nation's capital, to unreliable subordinates, preferring to spend his time in comfort in his home town surrounded by his family. Decades of mismanagement and Mobutu's steady withdrawal from public life helped create a vacuum into which stepped Laurent- Désiré Kabila, leader of a rebellion against Mobutu. Bolstered by the support of Rwanda and Uganda, Kabila swept through the country from the east, forced the Mobutu family into a Moroccan exile, and seized the presidency in 1997. Zaire died and the Democratic Republic of the Congo was born".

"Very concise" Jia smiled.

The wine waiter offered Bond a leather clad menu from which Bond chose a $90bottle of 2010 Domaine Serene Pinot Noir Evenstad Reserve from Oregon's Willamette Valley. The wine waiter poured a small amount into a crystal glass for Bond to taste. The wine had a slightly subdued but rich, deep nose. He sipped, dragging air along with the wine across his tongue. It had a pleasantly gritty texture that felt agreeable in the mouth. The flavours started to grow moderately and then increased in intensity. They were dominated by cherry with a tiny touch of menthol over a broader olive and earthy humus character. The wine had a robust bouquet, lush and generous. The wine's medium acidity did not bode well for long-term cellaring, so a 2010 was probably at its peak thought Bond. He nodded his approval and the waiter commenced filling Jia's glass. Happy with his choice he returned to choosing an appetiser and decided upon a foie gras terrine on gingerbread toast with pineapple chutney, sake jelly, and a green-apple purée. Jia requested the Hoisin glazed roasted Saba mackerel with white turnip salad, crispy wonton and cucumber coulis. For their main course Bond considered the Medallion of beef in a vindaloo sauce and mustard foam, complimented with foie gras croquettes and Asian vegetables but after a short moment of deliberation and not wanting to overdose on foie gras he settled for the braised beef cheeks. Jia chose Ayam Rendang biryani with achar; a tender spiced chicken leg dish was accompanied with fragrant long grain rice and Asian pickles.

"You are aware of Gbadolite, the Versailles of the jungle". Jia continued perfectly pronounced the town's name, wrapping her tongue around each letter "_Ba-doe-LEE-tay_. It was a statement not a question.

"Yes".

"What I am about to tell you is something I have rarely spoken about for the past twenty years".

"I'm not going anywhere". Bond bit into the crunchy ginger bread toast with a healthy portion of foie gras spread across it.

Jia inhaled deeply "_I was 14 years old when I was living with my father in what was then known as Zaire. He had been working for the British Government under the auspices of the United Nations trying to negotiate an end to the civil war before it ripped the country apart. He was a metallurgist by profession with a keen interest in Tin; so much so his friends nicknamed him the Tinsmith. Tin was and still is prevalent in the country and metal and mineral access was a major part of the negotiations. Strangely it was considered safe for the diplomatic community to have their family with them, even though a civil war was in progress. We were remote from the troubles, protected in secure communities. Whilst in Kinshasa my father had meetings with the rebel leader Laurent-Desire Kabila. He then informed me, out of the blue, that we would be travelling north to the territory of Nord-Ubangi to the town of Gbadolite. He had an audience with the President. Apparently, I was invited, and the President was looking forward to meeting me. I was thrilled at the chance of meeting the charismatic Mobutu, I had heard so much about him. My father was going to attempt to convince him to give up power for the good of the country. Naturally I was blissfully unaware of this at the time and was just looking forward to meeting a living legend._

_We took a scheduled jet and flew the seven hundred miles northeast across the country into the dense rainforest. As we neared our destination, we began to glimpse Mobutu's extensive family holdings: oil palm, coffee and coconut plantations, orange and grapefruit groves, and beef and dairy cattle ranches. He had spent one hundred million pounds sterling converting his birth place from a languid village of mud huts and dugout canoes into a "city of privilege". Building houses, schools, hospitals, a five-star hotel and a luxurious palace complex marooned deep in the rain forest. _

_Our plane touched down on the runway that had been lengthened to accommodate jets from Europe. The runway was built long enough so Mobutu could charter a Concord from Air France for shopping trips to Paris. I was disappointed Concord wasn't there, but A white 727 with Zaire's distinctive red-and-gold torch livery on its tail stood on the tarmac; Mobutu's luxurious private jet. My father told me it had been previously owned by Jordan's King Hussein_. _My first sight of Mobutu was a painting depicted him in crisp white military tunic with cap, spectacles and green sash, his hands gripping a rail as if surveying an adoring public. An inscription below it read "Ngbendu wa za Banga" meaning "the all-powerful warrior who, because of endurance and an inflexible will to win, will go from conquest to conquest leaving fire in his wake". _Jia again translated. _"He had vainly renamed himself as well as his country. The painting was outside the golden Tagine shaped VIP arrivals lounge. We walked past the statue of Mobutu's first wife – Marie Antoinette – as we entered the buildings cool interior._

_From the shade of a glass and aluminium air terminal, a fleet of black Mercedes scuttled out to greet us. We were taken passed the construction site of a separate protocol building, already ringed with enough flagpoles to honour the 53 members of the Organization of African Unity. The cars sped down wide boulevards that had been cut out of the tropical rainforest, flanked by security details driving black Peugeot 406's. The boulevards were reminiscent of small-town France. Even the street signs were the same as you'd see in Paris. Boulevard Mobutu was a handsome parkway; a real street, rarely seen in that part of Africa. It was even lined with banks, office buildings and hotels. __The town was a sanctuary, as remote from the chaos of Kinshasa. It was not surprising Mobutu preferred to use the retreat as his headquarters._

_As we moved further away from the airport, we passed a woman sat in front of a mud and wattle hut, rhythmically pounding manioc roots in a wooden mortar. A view of the old Gbadolite; I remember the smell of burning tree branches and charcoal used for open cooking fires. Most of all I remember the smell of the maniac flour cooking. That was the actual smell of Africa, a sensation that never failed to delight me. My father asked our chaperone why amongst all the wealth endowed upon Gbadolite by the President, people were still living in mud huts._

_''I think its fine like that; Let them build better houses when they want to. Maybe the palace will inspire them''. Such was Zaire's laissez-faire attitude. He then changed his tone, probably due to my father's shocked expression "Our President__bestows the local population with jobs; groundskeepers and custodians who maintain his palace and guest quarters. They are all his family. It is not uncommon to see him pass through the town in his red Land Cruiser, dispensing cash. He is loved by everyone"._

_On the hills of neighbouring Kawele, seven miles outside Gbadolite, was Mobutu pièce de résistance. Accessed by a two mile long winding driveway two palaces had been built within a walled compound; I didn't visit or see the first, but I have since seen pictures of a village consisting of Chinese pagodas, with tall roofs of jade and orange glazed tile that surrounded ponds which had been built and paid for by the Chinese and used primarily as a residence for Mobutu's family and guests. The other palace was a gaudy modern styled mansion built of real and fake marble veneer. It was Mobutu's private residence and called The Eagles nest, because of its elevated position on the hills surrounding the town. As our Mercedes rolled slowly through the palace grounds, I glimpsed statues in ornamental gardens, a family chapel and a gazebo overlooking a lagoon and to my delight a Peacock landed as our car came to a stop. The magnificent bird's tail feathers fanned as we stepped out into the warmth of the evening. A tiered fountain that was in the style of Versailles stood in front of the imposing entrance arch its giant circular bay held gallons of water. We walked up four steps into the atrium, a dozen marble-clad pillars stood tall, supporting a tiled roof. Beyond the marble pillars was another fountain__. __Statues of four lions decorated each corner. We were quickly ushered into an immense "salon" that seemed more suitable to a European head of state. The room was awash with fake Louis XIV furniture, __Venetian chandeliers, expensive tapestries__, and paintings by Renoir and Monet and, at the far end, a magnificent mahogany bar stocked with every spirit imaginable. Each bottle was about the size of a Balthazar of champagne. Before dinner everyone watched the evening news on a massive projection screen, a satellite-dish communications station provided a crisp reception. The broadcast opened with a musical tribute to "The Guide". Mobutu's likeness appeared on the screen, his head floating effortlessly through the clouds,_ _wearing his trade mark leopard skin torque. I didn't recognize any of the guests, but the palace was renowned for hosting countless gaudy nights. It wasn't unusual to see a guest list that included Pope John Paul II, the King of Belgium, French president Valéry Giscard d'Estaing, UN secretary-general Boutros Boutros Ghali, self-declared emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa of the Central African Republic, American televangelist Pat Robertson, oil magnet David Rockefeller, and unsurprisingly William Casey, director of the CIA amongst multitude of shady millionaires._

_The dining room held a massive marble table in the centre around which __guests were served expensive champagne by white-gloved butlers to help wash down lobster and chilled salmon served on moving conveyer belts. We were served exotic food in some banana leaves; some extremely tasty fish, I think. Wine flowed freely from one of the best wine cellars in the world. There must have been several hundred guests, all in their finest evening wear. I have been told there was approximately 700 staff, including chauffeurs, chefs and servants as well as 300 soldiers working in the palace; ensuring the whole machine ran smoothly"_.

The waiter cleared the table and returned with their selected main course. He enthusiastically explained that the recipe for the braised beef cheeks was based on Bak Kut Teh, a traditional meat-bone soup that was very popular in Singapore and Malaysia. The dish was noted for its complex use of herbs and spices, including dong gui ginseng, cinnamon and star anise. The waiter eagerly explained that Bak Kut Teh was normally cooked with pork rib, but in line with the Chefs culinary philosophy of drawing inspiration from the region, taking traditional local recipes and infusing them with modern twists and European flourishes. He had replaced the pork with beef cheeks, as they boasted a rich flavour and the marbled fat made them ideal for slow cooking. The dish was accompanied by sautéed apricot bao mushrooms and rich, creamy potato mousseline. Bond considered this added an extra layer of indulgence. The dishes not only tasted good, they looked exquisite. Once the waiter had retired Jia continued, but her demeanour had subtly changed. She appeared nervous as she moved the rice and chicken around her plate with a fork seeming to have lost her appetite:

"_After the news broadcast had finished Mobutu strode into the room. He was dressed casually but smartly in a colourful silk shirt, black trousers, and well-shined shoes. I remember the shininess, and of course he wore his trademark leopard-skin torque perched on his head. He seemed to look through me from behind his large black-framed spectacles as he offered me his beefy hand. _

"_Young lady; judging by your beauty you must be __Jia__. I have heard much about you". He spoke French slowly with a powerful, gravel-voice. "I would like to speak to your father, so please relax". He guided me away from my father towards an oversized leather couch "Would you like a Coca Cola, we have our own factory here in Gbadolite". He didn't wait for a reply before clicking his fingers at a waiter and a bottle of cola was presented to me on a silver tray as though it were the crown jewels. "Ensure this lady is well looked after". Mobutu commanded and then strode towards my father. They were close enough for me to hear some of the conversation. I believe he thought a young girl wouldn't be interested in anything that was being said. He was wrong._

_Mobutu proclaimed reports of heavy fighting in the southeast were exaggerated and dismissed the pillaging in Kinshasa as a temporary and unfortunate setback. And while he acknowledged "some" soldiers hadn't been paid for a while, he claimed it was a clerical error that would soon be righted. Several times he reiterated that he had the situation under control, and no one need worry because, after all, "Je suis Mobutu!" When papa pressed him on his nation's abhorrent human rights record, he prevaricated about addressing all of Zaire's problems and then gave a lecture us on the geopolitical challenges of running a country larger than Western Europe. Finally, he assured him of his commitment to multiparty democracy and holding free elections as soon as possible. Mobutu explained he was a simple man at heart, and it "pained" him to know most of his country was struggling to survive. _

_''How can you imagine, for a single instant, that a political leader who is so loved by his people, as is my case, that he would oppress the people who adore him, who find in him the expression of discovered peace?'' the President asked as his advisers nodded their heads in absolute agreement. In a sartorial reflection of Mobutu's tight political grip, the advisers loyally wore abacost, a Mao-style_ _closed-necked tunic styled by the President to replace Western suits. The term abacost was shorthand for __à bas le costume__-"down with the suit".__ As they stood under the fading sun, beads of perspiration formed at their temples and slowly rolled down their cheeks._

_He was charming, witty, and articulate. Anyone unfamiliar with the politics of Zaire, as I was at the time, could've been forgiven for being impressed by his confident tour d'horizon. I was. Such was his reputation, but of course everything he said, apart from "I am Mobutu," was total bullshit. _

_Moments later he was gone, retreating to some luxurious nook to take a call on his personal satellite phone, which was always close at hand, carried by an aide. I heard him shout "__I am the latest victim of the cold war, no longer needed by the US. The lesson is that my support for American policy counts for nothing". He raged as he left._

_My father was clearly frustrated, and he was in deep conversation with his associates. I became bored and wandered outside where the party was in full swing. The spectacular panoramic views of __Gbadolite in the __valley below __were simply stunning__ from the large multi-tiered marble terrace__. __People danced and chattered around two swimming pools as the sun slowly sank below the horizon. A small army of l__iveried servants carried __roast quail on Limoges china and poured wine, perfectly chilled against the equatorial heat.__, __The incessant hum of the ever-present cicadas mixed with Gregorian chants that flowed from multiple loudspeakers. The palace was remarkable, a fortress carved out of the jungle. A jungle that remained just a few dozen feet away, its advance held back by local workers who kept the sliver of the decaying nation well-tended. As the light faded the terraces and fountains that were dotted around the grounds became illuminated. The guests gasped in amazement. I remember feeling excited as I saw soldiers patrolling the gardens being led by six leopards from Mobutu's private zoo on their evening walk. The palace was truly enchanting._

_The magic didn't last though. It was then that I met a white man. His accent was different; He introduced himself as Zivko. He was in his late twenties and had been drinking. Alcohol was heavy on his breath. He asked if I was enjoying the party and if I would like to see something magical. He enquired if I liked diamonds and showed me an oversized ring on his right hand. It appeared to be gold with a centrally set solitaire diamond, about 3 carrots in size. There were etchings either side of the diamond. I didn't recognize them. He said he knew a place where there were plenty of diamonds that I could have. I felt uneasy and declined the offer, but he insisted and gripped my arm tightly, leading me around the busy veranda. People were too engrossed in themselves to notice me being led away and the music was very loud. We entered a quiet section of the house, it was dark and no one else was around. Zivko opened a door and I was pushed inside a large dark room. By then I was completely terrified. I started to cry and plead to be let go. He said nothing. I just heard the click of a switch and the room was lit up with subdued lighting from spotlights in the ceiling and a golden palm tree shaped lamp in the corner of the room that almost reached the ceiling. I immediately noticed several pornographic magazines scattered on the floor. That scared me. I was in a room that looked like a bedroom, but there was no sign of a bed. Zivko forcibly led me towards an adjoining room which was more strongly lit. I could hear music and someone singing along, badly. This room was a__bathroom furnished with two Jacuzzis - one circular and one rectangular. Both were filled with soapy water, but only the circular one was occupied. I was pushed into the room and came face to face with Patrice Adoula as he lifted himself out of the water. The soap suds were the only thing that hid his nakedness. He'd also been drinking; he held an empty champagne flute and empty bottles lay on the floor_".

"Are you sure that he was Adoula" Bond interrupted. He couldn't ignore this revelation. It was important.

"Most definitely: I will never forget that face". Jia's eyes were welling up as she spoke. Bond passed her his napkin and clutched her hand tightly as she continued. He had been enjoying the braised beef cheeks but had now lost his appetite. He downed the remnant of the Pinot Noir that had been lingering in his glass.

"_He stepped out of the bath and mumbled something about preparing himself and castigated Zivko for being too quick. He asked if I would like to freshen up, but I just froze, tears were pouring down my face._

"_Don't be scared young lady. This is a ritual that has been in my culture for centuries. You are a virgin?" I was completely unaware what he was talking about. "Tell me. You are still intact". _

"_Yes". I nervously mumbled. It was the truth._

"_Excellent. It will be a great honour that will be bestowed upon your family"._

_Zivko pulled me back into the larger room. Adoula followed naked and wet._

_The room was cold, but that wasn't the only reason I was shivering. I could hear a buzzing, which I first thought was the air conditioning, but it soon became apparent that it was the mechanism that raised a bed out of the floor. Panels separated and the bed slowly emerged out of a recess. The bed, the size I have never seen before, was flanked by two bronze female sculptures and littered with hundreds of loose diamonds, all sparkling on the sheets. I had not seen anything like it and it would have been magical if I wasn't so frightened and the whole situation so terrifying. _

"_My friend said you would see something magical". Adoula laughed. He walked to the first statue and ran his hand over a well-polished naked breast. "This lady is called The Sleep and her friend is called The Wake. Are they not beautiful, especially as they are naked? Would you like to be naked?" I froze with fear._

"_No. Please let me go back to my father"._

"_Your father is busy otherwise he wouldn't have left you alone". Adoula snapped "You are fortunate the President is busy with his negotiations or it would be him who is here. He is old. You would not find him pleasant. Consider yourself lucky I am the one who will invoke the ancient __tradition of droit de cuissage_".

"Deflowering a virgin?" Bond interpreted. Jia just nervously smiled, her eyes glistening. "Do you want to go back to the suite?"

"I'm ok. I need to finish this, and we couldn't be any more alone". The other diners around them had already adjourned to the Piano bar or the rear observation car

"I_ didn't know what that was; he clearly thought I was part of the negotiations. I certainly couldn't comprehend the situation I was in. Adoula then turned aggressive "Know I want to see you naked. Take off your clothes". I turned towards the door and found it blocked by Zivko. He struck me with the back of his right hand. The diamond ring on his index finger ripped into my cheek, gouging the skin." _Jia's fingers involuntary touched her scar _"Blood began to flow down my neck as he grabbed at me tearing at my dress. The buttons gave way and it fell to the floor. I tried to move, but Adoula was behind me ragging my bra over my head. Both were like rabid hyenas feeding on their prey. They threw me violently on the bed. The diamonds scratched at my skin, I tried to crawl away, but they pushed my face into the mattress and pulled at my pants. I could smell Zivko, a cloying mix of alcohol on his breath and his sweat mixed with cheap cologne. He asked me if I wanted a drink and before I could scream, he poured champagne over my face, filling my mouth and nostrils. I thought I was drowning. I struggled. And wished I could have fought harder, but both were strong and heavy. Zivko was holding me down when I felt an intense pain; pain like nothing I'd felt before. Adoula had entered me. I almost passed out as he frantically thrust into me, over and over again, but unconsciousness refused to save me from the fear and pain. I tried to scream but I was being suffocated as my face was being forced into the diamond encrusted, champagne sodden sheets. After what had seemed like an eternity he finished and released the weight that had been pinning me down. Zivko also released his hold and I curled up on the bed as tight as I possibly could get._

"_Do with her as you please" Adoula told Zivko as he paraded naked around the bedroom drinking from a champagne bottle. Zivko began to undress. He pulled his shirt over his head and began to loosen the belt on his trousers. I closed my eyes praying it would all go away: A prayer that someone heard. There was a crack as the door was kicked in. I opened my eyes and saw through teary blurred vision two men force their way in. One wrestled Zivko to the ground and the other moved towards me. I recognized his voice immediately as he screamed._

"_My God what have they done". My Father scooped me up and cradled me. We were both hysterical._

_My father's friend had knocked Zivko unconscious. He stood and spoke in an American accent. He was some sort of military I thought. "We need to go now. Is there anyone else?" He demanded_

_I couldn't speak. I was petrified and Adoula had locked himself in the bathroom. We didn't waste time trying to confront him. I was hurriedly taken to a waiting limousine where we were bundled in the back. The American instructed the driver to take us straight to the nearby German run hospital that provided the best health care in the Congo. It wasn't long after that, that we were on a flight back to Hong Kong. My father never returned to the Congo. He never forgave himself for what happened, and I believe it eventually killed him two years later". _Jia's eyes welled. Bond passed her a fresh napkin whilst reassuringly squeezing her hand.

"I think it's time we headed back to our suite. You look exhausted". They declined the final course, both feeling drained after Jia's revelation. Neither relished sitting in the piano bar as passengers took turns to accompany the pianist in delivering dubious renditions of Lady in Red. On returning to their suite they discovered it had been transformed into a luxury bedroom. The two single beds laid out side by side were big enough for an average-size person and were covered with crisp linens. Jia slipped out of her dress and collapsed on the bed in her underwear sobbing. Bond leant over and covered her with a soft light blanket, he kissed he forehead and as he stood, she looked up at him. "It was me in the South of France on the motorbike with the mines. Adoula was in the front vehicle. I tried my best to avoid hurting anyone else. You and the girl shouldn't have got involved". Being reminded of Cherry was more painful than the revelation, but Bond was beginning to understand. He opened the mini bar and removed a bottle of Tiger beer. He slumped on the opposite bed, rested against the carriage wall and took a long drink.

**0033**

**The American in the brown fedora.**

As the train effortlessly slipped past moonlit watercourses, a freeway swept by headlamps, and high rises with starkly illuminated stairwells. All exuding the mystery of a tropical city after nightfall, its lost corners laid bare by fluorescent lights. As the train swept into Kuala Lumpur it entered the white 1911 colonial Moorish-style station, making a short one-hour stop. The time was 1.00 am. The train stopped at platform 4 long enough for those passengers still awake to stretch their legs and explore the grandest station in South-East Asia which had been modelled on a mosque, with its elegant chhatris Indian style domes, cupolas and archways. Beneath the Islamic exterior, the Station resembled a typical glass and iron Victorian English railway building whose large steel framed pitched roof had been designed to a specification that required it to support snow a meter deep; something that was rarely experienced in Kuala Lumpur's year-round hot and humid climate. It was also unusual for the train to take on new passengers, but as the kitchens were being restocked with fresh produce and the train was returned to its optimum condition, with the windows being washed and cleaned; a lone man wearing a beige suit and brown fedora briskly walked up the steps of the connecting tunnel, across the platform and climbed aboard the next to last carriage unchallenged.

Bond awoke as the train slowed, its brakes momentarily squealed, disturbing the hypnotic motion. At some point in the night Jia had joined him on his single bed, her head was laid against his naked chest. He moved the edge of the curtain to one side and peered outside. The dawn revealed a landscape suddenly in thrall to the jungle. Trailing vines smothered trees and telegraph poles in eerie configurations, transforming them into lurking triffids and variegated wraiths. The train passed stilted houses, broad-leafed banana trees, and a slick of Brown River, before skirting the clear expanse of the Bukit Merah Lake. A crane took flight against the backdrop of low, mist-laden hills, disturbed by the squealing brakes. Jia stirred, she looked up at Bond her wide eyes drawing him towards her. Their lips touched in a brief kiss.

"Good morning. Feeling better?" Bond enquired.

"Yes, I am thank you. It's been a long time since I let those demons out, but I hope you now understand why Patrice Kitengi Adoula cannot be allowed to continue as President. You must help me James. He must be stopped". She pleaded as her eyes again moistened. Bond held here tightly.

"This puts me in a rather difficult situation; you must promise me that your vendetta is over. Leave all this to the professionals". Jia didn't reply; she just held Bond tightly.

Bond showered and dressed before they pressed the service button for breakfast. He slipped the Navy-blue polo shirt over his head and pulled on the grey trousers just before Prakash arrived at 8.30 with a breakfast tray. The tray consisted of fruit juices, a bakery basket, yoghurt and cereals followed by aplate of Thai Prawns with tomato, melon, watermelon and mango salad and lime dressing. Bond also had E&O Eggs Royale, something of a habit he'd formed. It consisted of scrambled eggs with fresh marinated salmon, blinis and caviar accompanied by an herb salad. Jia chose E&O Asian Sunrise which comprised of fried eggs and rice with fresh crab and Asian salad. They both had Miso soup with tofu and seaweed to finish.

A knock on the door announced Prakash returning with a prepared pot of BOH Plantation tea from the Cameron highlands.

"Coffee for me; Doi Chaang, black no sugar." Bond requested the Northern Thai blend as Prakash retreated apologising for his presumptuousness. Several minutes later there was another knock on the door.

"This will be Prakash with his tail between his legs". Bond spoke to himself as he twisted the door handle pulling it towards him. Felix Leiter stood in the doorway slowly wafting his fedora to cool him.

"They need to turn the air con up". Felix peered above the rim of his glasses.

"Felix. What a surprise. I was hoping my coffee had arrived"

"Felix" Jia excitedly squealed. She walked over and embraced him tightly.

"You know each other?" Bond paused, and then it dawned on him "You're THE American".

"How observant James. Walk with me. You can have your caffeine fix in the observation car".

The observation car wasat the rear of the train. It offered an unobstructed view of the lush green jungle and expansive tea plantations from an open observation deck. Its interior section covered two – thirds of the car and was decorated in a colonial 'veranda' ambiance with its teak wood flooring, panelled walls, rattan furniture and potted plants. The remaining third of the car was an outdoor, open air area that comfortably sat about ten with plenty of additional standing room. It was decorated with teak wood, padded chairs, protective railings and bowls of nuts, a perfect place for Bond to enjoy his morning coffee and watch the exquisite scenery drift by. As the train snaked amongst emerald-green paddy fields patterned with neat irrigation canals a snow egret flapped by. Felix and Bond sat huddled around a small table in deep conversation.

"So, you're Jia's guardian angel". Bond sipped his black coffee.

"Sort of, my only regret is that we let her wander off. So that bastard could do what he did". Bond felt the emotion in Felix's words. "I was part of the United Nations delegation, along with her father. It was a waste of time, but we had to be seen to try and prevent the country descending into utter chaos; which it eventually did. We failed in more than one way that day…" Felix let his words slip as he frowned with regret.

"She's a strong woman. You can't take away what happened, but you saved her from worse". Both men looked across at Jia. She wore a light blue cotton blouse and navy-blue cropped trousers. The quality of the light in Southeast Asia was golden and diffused as the early morning sun rose. She looked radiant as she leant against the brass railings and waved at the local Schoolchildren in their purple shorts and shirts as they sat at small, immaculate stations coloured bright with bougainvillea, waiting for the local train to take them to school. A broad smile spread across her face as the breeze blew through her hair. The train hypnotically clacked by.

"The negotiations were particularly futile. Mobutu had become delusional and he was more interested in the party than anything we had to say. We eventually gave up; it was then that her father realized she was missing. He was beside himself; frantic. We were lucky that a guest had seen where she had gone and more importantly wasn't afraid to tell us. I suspect you have been told the rest?"

"Yes. You took her to a hospital and then out of the country. What did Mobuto have to say?"

"I stayed in the country, and confronted Mobutu, who naturally denied any knowledge of the incident. I had no reason to disbelieve him. After realizing who his victim was, Adoula would have kept quiet. I tried to locate him and his friend, but they had disappeared off the face of the Earth. I initially thought Mobuto had dealt with them in his usual brutal way because of the embarrassment; that's how it was back then, but it soon became clear that they had been spirited out of the country.

When Mobutu realised that the West had grown weary of supporting him and they had begun to unceremoniously desert him, he turned to China for assistance. Adoula was a no body, until he appeared with Mobutu in the mid 90's. It is thought he was one of Mobutu's many illegitimate children; a bastard in every sense of the word. I've no doubt Mobutu asked the Chinese to spirit both of them away. We didn't really understand or cared why at the time; the main thing was Jia was safe". As on cue Jia walked over to them, kissed Felix on the forehead and ran her hand lazily across Bonds shoulder. She announced she was going to freshen up.

"You've obviously kept in touch".

"Not really; after what had happened in Gbadolite they returned home to Hong Kong shortly before you Brits handed it back to the Chinese. They could have quite easily started a new life in the UK, but with family links and her mother's grave being in the province they chose to stay where their home had always been. Jia showed an aptitude for our line of business and was soon working for the division of the Ministry of State Security that looks after Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macau. She overcame the inevitable prejudice and suspicion with being mixed race but was eventually accepted on merit. She stayed in that region; blissfully unaware Adoula and Zivko were guests of her masters. It was only when she transferred to the International Intelligence Division that it became clear that Adoula was living in the same country and was being groomed to return to the Congo as part of their subversive conquest of Africa. I think it is that and the information she became aware of that has led her to take the action she has. So, you see I wasn't lying when you asked me if anyone was working for us, she's not with Uncle Sam".

"She's not a double agent?" Bond suspiciously asked.

"Not as such, I could have turned her, she was more than willing, but my heart wasn't in it. The risks were to great and my connection to close. After you asked, I did the sums with your description, the attempt on Adoula's life on top of the Marina bay Sands and her appearance at Eden Hall there could only be one person. Shortly afterwards she contacted me with some extremely concerning information; Information that was dismissed by our head of section, so I pointed her in your direction. I did reassure her that you didn't normally act like a quarterback". Felix motioned to the waiter to replenish their coffee.

"She's the one who parachuted off the top? And I told her she needed to leave it to the professionals" Bond was incredulous. "We've been protecting Adoula from two different people!"

"I told her you would do the right thing". Felix looked in the direct Jia had walked.

"Felix, no matter how much sympathy I have and the rights and wrongs of the whole situation, this is not a British matter. My hands are tied, but she needs to stop this desire for revenge. You know my Governments stance on Adoula. I'm supposed to protect him". Bond had never been more serious. "With M's murder; we have our hands full locating the perpetrators".

"You're here aren't you?" Felix forcefully pointed out "Besides what I'm about to tell you will change everything".

"You have until the next stop to convince me Felix". Bond sternly advised.

"Adoula and Zivko stayed in China for twenty years. Both received training at the PLA National Defence University in Beijing. Nothing further was heard of them, until they resurfaced this year".

"We know about Adoula, but you're saying this Zivko has re-appeared?" Bond questioned with growing interest. The President may be off limits, but the man called Zivko was a different matter.

"He's Adoula's bodyguard. Rarely leaves his side. They met when he was a member of the mercenary White Legion led by Colonel Jugoslav "Yugo" Petrusic that fought in the first Congo war. In 1996 the Zairian Armed forces concluded they needed the assistance of mercenaries. The White Legion were awarded the contract over the more experienced "Executive Outcomes" because of the price and Petrusic's strong connections to the French Direction de la Surveillance du territoire. The unit was made up of soldiers from the 10th Sabotage Detachment of the Bosnian Serb Army. All had fought in the Balkan civil war and most were sadistic bastards, but militarily they weren't very effectual. They retreated to Kisangani in the spring of ninety-seven and then refused to fight. By then Zivko's real skill had surfaced. He had become a rather efficient hit man, carrying out a number of assassinations for Mobutu, winning his favour. He met and become very close to Adoula, who had been adopted by Mobutu. Both lived a playboy life in Gbadalite until the Chinese spirited them away".

"If Adoula was being groomed as a puppet; what did the Chinese want with Zivko?"

"He's a natural born killer who learned all his skills in the Kosov conflict. His mother was killed when NATO carried out an airstrike on the Radio and Television building in Belgrade in 1999. Revenge for this act is assumed to be his motivation. We believe his first international assignment was revenge for the bombing; the assassination of a well known Television personality in London. He now goes by the indifferent name of John Smith". Felix paused allowing the information to sink in. "He was christened Zivko Kovac. That incidentally is Serbian for Blacksmith: Co-incidence?" Bond was visibly perplexed.

"So, the professional hit man we thought had a contract on Adoula is actually his bodyguard?"

"The plot gets thicker. Who do you think is the prime shareholder in Billecart and Loxley, the company that enlisted Kovacs services and was thought to be working against Adoula?" Bonds expression was blank. "One Patrice Kitengi Adoula financed by the National Bank of China".

"This doesn't make sense. Do we know where Smith is?"

"Kovac or Smith was one of the men who ambushed you and took M. He probably died along with M in the explosion, but we believe Adoula was linked with the planning and execution of that and is currently on the Presidential yacht "_Republique du Zaire_", which is moored off the island of Penang".

"Why would he arrange his own kidnapping and endure a violent and bloody torture. The man lost a hand and then why would he turn on those that helped him?"

"That is still a mystery. Only time will tell, but don't you think Mobutu's palace was a little bit theatrical and didn't you think he was easily located. The Congo's a big country?"

"We didn't know a great deal about Adoulas past. The PM didn't seem too concerned, but M was, so Q branch supplied a nice little surveillance device which was fortunately presented to him before the kidnapping. That is how we located him but having someone cut your hand off is more than theatrical".

"Torture and mutilation can have an unusual beneficial effect when politics are involved; guilt and sympathy can cause even the most cautious politician to make the wrong decisions. Fortunately, our current President doesn't suffer from either. Your Prime Minister unfortunately does. Add that to a political necessity and the result is that she's been played: If I haven't already convinced you to join our little crusade". Felix hesitated; he sensed Bond was still unconvinced. This would mean going against his Government. "I have one more piece of information that may persuade you". Bond waited in anticipation. "You gave me a partial copy of a document titled "Operation Black Swan" that referred to nuclear weapons. I asked our decipher department to look at it. They and my head of station said it was nothing more than propaganda that referred to a fantasy. I left it at that until Jia contacted me".

"I'm listening".

"The document refers to the production of a Tantalum salted nuclear device".

"You mean the doomsday bomb. I thought that was pure fantasy?"

"Let me explain. Compared to the United States and Russia, China has maintained a relatively small nuclear arsenal since its first nuclear test in 1964. At the last count, they were estimated to have just 270 warheads, compared to the 6800 held by the US and Russia's 7000. However, in recent years they have stepped up the quantity and quality of their nuclear arsenal. Beijing is estimated to have between 14 and 18 tons of highly enriched uranium and 1.3—2.3 tons of weapon-grade plutonium stockpiled. That's enough for anywhere between 750 and 1600 nuclear weapons. This was the main reason our government pulled out of the INF2 Treaty, although it was denied at the time, to put pressure on Russia".

"This is text book stuff Felix. Even with the increase, China's arsenal falls well below that of the US or Russia".

"I know, and sorry for boring you James, but the detail is important in the context of what I am about to tell you. The document you passed me detailed the illegal supply of minerals, in particular Tantalum and Cobalt from the DRC to China via Rwanda. It went on to explain that a large proportion of these minerals were being used in a state-backed physics experiment that could assist China's military develop a highly radioactive "salted" nuclear bombs".

"Surely they're only at the experimental stage and isn't it all a little academic? The whole point of a nuclear deterrent is the fear of mutual destruction".

"In November, China unveiled a next-generation nuclear weapon that has the potential to be able to strike "anywhere in the world". This missile, called the Dongfeng-41, can reach distances of at least 12,000km — putting the US well in range. With a speed of up to Mach 10, it can carry up to 10 nuclear warheads. This weapon is scheduled to enter China's arsenal this year. A major objective of China's nuclear weapons program was to achieve high level of nuclear deterrence with a relatively small number of warheads.

"My point still stands about mutual destruction".

"What if they were used for area denial on say a vital mine?" The realization hit Bond like a sledgehammer. "Jia revealed to me that China has made a breakthrough in developing such a device at their state sponsored heavy ion research facility, the Institute of Modern Physics in north western Gansu province. They successfully fired superheated beams of a radioactive isotope of tantalum. Accelerating ionized atoms of tantalum 181 to record levels repeatedly as part of an experiment for some military engineering projects intended to, and I quote "meet a critical strategic demand of China's national defence".

"Why's it taken so long for them to achieve this? The theory's been around since the 50's?"

"I'm no expert, but the report Jia brought to me stated that it has long been a challenge to create a high-quality, high-output tantalum beam because the metal's unusually high melting point of nearly 3,000 degrees Celsius meaning it was difficult to isolate the element and generate a particle stream big enough for experimental use. Tantalum is also nearly as heavy as gold and highly advanced magnetic technology is needed to propel the ions to high speeds and control their movement. It appears they have overcome these difficulties. The report also quotes retired Chinese Major General Xu Guangyu, a senior researcher at the Beijing-based China Arms Control and Disarmament Association, as saying that China would make sure it did not fall behind in the technology to maintain a strategic deterrence and the experiment was very likely to lead to the development of nuclear devices containing tantalum. If added to a warhead there would potentially be devastating consequences".

"They couldn't be considering using this against a foreign nation. Say the Tantalum mines in Australia or Brazil. It would be an act of war…"

"What about the new Coltan seam that spans the Kivu region and the border with Rwanda?"

"Adoula's intending to use it on his own country?" Bond couldn't see it.

"I know it sounds madness, but Adoula isn't the saviour of the Congo as the press and your government like to think. He's a Chinese puppet. He doesn't have control of the artisanal mines in the Kivu region. They are still under the control of the rebels supported by Rwandan military. To make things worse Ebola is spreading throughout the area. It may be a case of if he cannot have the riches of the region. No one can".

"Surely China wouldn't agree. They need it as much as anyone"

"China has its own mines; such as the Yichun mine in the Yuanzhou district. They now control over ninety five percent of the world's supplies of refractory and rare earth metals".

"I didn't realise they were the major supplier".

"They have about thirty six percent of the world's reserves but crucially their minerals are easier to extract due to geological reasons. The country has also, in the past, been more tolerant of the ecological damage the mines cause to the surrounding areas with their associated radioactive waste. They announced their virtual monopoly on the global supply in mid-October when they threatened to and partially halted all exports of rare earth materials for ten days. The mere threat of disruption caused chaos in markets around the world". Felix sipped on his coffee while the implications of what he had just revealed sank in "and don't forget they have been stockpiling large quantities for quite a while. Adoula also owns shares in the mines that will benefit from such an act".

"How would this effect the official supply of Tantalum? The supply from that region is restricted under the conflict mineral act".

"Well, there may be a change coming to that act soon. Our Commander in chief doesn't believe it is constitutional. So, he intends to repeal it. The Chinese and Adoula will already know this".

"It's bad for business? So Adoula will remove his enemies and take control of a country that still has plenty of other mineral riches. China will flex its muscles no doubt, denying responsibility and claiming the whole thing as a rebel driven terrorist plot gone wrong". The whole thing was fantastical, but Bond had got used to the deranged plans of megalomaniacs' intent on their own kind of world domination.

Jia returned and lent behind Bond, draping her arms over his shoulders. She spoke close to his right ear and looked at Felix. "We'll be drawing into Butterworth in twenty minutes. I think you should see the news first though". She walked over to the unmanned bar and used a remote control to change the channel on a small TV screen attached to the wall. Bonds official service photograph appeared on the screen with "Wanted for the suspect murder of British Intelligence chief" written underneath.

"Turn the volume up". Bond demanded.

"... The rogue British intelligence officer, identified by an anonymous source as the international hitman known as the Blacksmith, is wanted in connection with several violent incidents in central Singapore yesterday and the suspected murder of Gareth Mallory, the British MI6 chief. Further information received by this station also indicates Mr Bond's involvement in the assassination of Joseph Menga the former President of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, whilst both countries were deep in trade negotiations. He has also been linked with the death of a British agent in the South of France and an Investment banker in Dubai. The UK government has refused to comment"

"One out of four isn't bad".

"It appears all the chess pieces are being manoeuvred into position. Do you still want to refrain from playing?" Felix began to stand.

"None of this makes sense, it feels like I'm being directed down a one-way street and I have little option but to drive to the end. You say Adoula may have the answers and he's now in Penang?"

"He is". Jia spoke gently. Her face was close to his.

"Then let's go and ask him".

**0034**

**The Pearl of the Orient**

The Eastern and Oriental Express slowed to a halt at the railway station in Butterworth. Jia, Felix and Bond left the train, walked the short distance to the adjacent Sultan Abdul Halim Ferry Terminaland boarded the red and yellow Rapid Ferry named Pulau Undan. The ferry carried foot passengers on the upper deck and vehicles on the lower deck. The crossing took twenty minutes from Butterworth to the Raja Tun Uda Ferry Terminal in George Town on the island of Penang: The Pearl of the Orient.

Penang was once the capital of British Malaya; The British East India Company took possession of the exotic tropical island off the north-west coast of Malaysia in 1786, and "Prince of Wales Island" soon became an important stop for traders sailing through the Strait of Malacca. Penang's multicultural society was a cocktail of Eastern cultures consisting of Chinese, Malay and Indian communities. The capital George Town was a collision of colonial and commercial architecture; the once crumbling Chinatown had been transformed into a modern city with heritage hotels, galleries, boutiques, bars and restaurants**; **old men lolling at open shop fronts in cane chairs. The Chinese shop houses sat in the shadow of modern skyscrapers and blue joss smoke perfumed the air from giant incense sticks. Felix lead the way, taking an indirect route, ignoring the touting trishaw peddlers and strolled into the city's maze of narrow, bustling streets whose names evoked Penang's cosmopolitan history and offered respite from the sun as the temperature gradually rose and hit thirty-five degrees with an oppressive ninety five percent humidity by early afternoon. They turned onto Lebuh Light, named after the island's colonial founder, Francis Light, and passed the grand Victorian town hall, the colonnaded Supreme Court and Fort Cornwallis, built by Light in 1786 that sat overlooking the modern-day cruise terminal. It was next to the terminal that Felix found what he was looking for.

The warehouse was built next to the sea and looked out on to the Penang straight and Butterworth three kilometres beyond. Felix entered a six-digit code into the doors sophisticated lock that belied the buildings rundown appearance. The heavy door opened and all three stepped into the cool interior.

"You will need to approach and board the Presidential yacht unseen. I doubt Adoula will be pleased to see you. He definitely will not want to see Jia". Felix explained as he flicked a switch that illuminated the warehouse. Through the dim dust filled air various tools could be seen strewn across well used oily work benches. Antique belt driven drills and saws stood collecting dust. It all looked very old, but one thing was starkly out of place. Suspended above a covered access to the waterway, held in chains was what could only be described as a fifteen-foot-long mechanical dolphin.

"A Seabreacher!" Bond enthusiastically observed. "How on earth did you get your hands on one of these at such short notice?" He ran his hand over the sculptured fibre glass body. The organic lines presented an unforgettable sight, like the twisted union of a marine mammal and a high-performance fighter jet. The acrylic canopy, taken from a Raptor-F22 fighter jets, and underwater view ports gave pilot and passenger a near 360-degree view as they flew through the water at breath-taking speed.

"We have an extensive range of contacts to draw upon James and DHL offer excellent next day delivery. It's been a busy twenty-four hours". Felix didn't elaborate.

"Is it a submarine?" Jia was intrigued.

"No. Not really. It can only snorkel at a depth of five to six feet for a short duration" Bond explained. Jia looked slightly disappointed. "What it can do though is travel at immense speed and jump up to ten feet out of the water. It can even perform acrobatic tricks if the pilot is accomplished enough".

"Which I assume you are" Jia mocked Bond.

"I adapt quickly".

"There's a pod of dolphins that have been seen in the straight over the past week. If they appear, we can use them a cover for your approach tonight when the light begins to fade". Felix had moved up a staircase and was peering through a window that over looked the Penang straight with a pair of binoculars. "There's a change of clothing for you both". He pointed to a corner of the warehouse.

As the sun began to fade Bond stripped and rebuilt the Beretta. Jia did the same with her QSZ-92. Both were dressed head to toe in black. Bond placed the pistol in his shoulder holster and turned to Felix.

"You know what to do if you receive this signal". He pressed a button on his watch. Felix's mobile phone burst into a synthesized rendition of the Star - Spangled Banner. Felix didn't reply, they had gone over this several times. He cancelled the ring tone.

"It's time to go. The dolphins are playing".

Bond helped Jia into the Seabreacher cockpit and fastened the four-point safety harness; pulling it tight against her body. He then climbed into the pilot's seat and Felix assisted with his harness. Felix then closed the three-quarter inch glass canopy. Bond locked it in place. Each man gave the thumbs up.

The Seabreacher was lowered into the waterway that gave it access to the murky waters of the Penang straight. It wasn't pollution that caused the murkiness but sediment from mud stirred up by the tides and heavy shipping in the Malacca Strait. Felix released the chains and saluted. Bond pressed he ignition button and the Atkins marine rotary engine burst into life. The fibre glass, stainless steel and aluminium dolphin moved gently out of the warehouse. Once in open water Bond familiarized himself with the complex controls. Hand-held joysticks operated two fins allowing the pilot to change direction, while the tail, or rudder, was operated using foot pedals. Unlike conventional watercraft that only operate on a two-dimensional plane, the Seabreacher operated more like an aircraft with full three axis of control – pitch, roll, and yaw. This allowed the vessel to carve left and right, jump over, dive under, and cut though the waves, even perform a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree barrel rolls on the water.

Bond looked around the cockpit; everything was finished to a high degree. The two sticks were either side of his legs and a dashboard, with three information dials was directly in front of him. His foot rested on peddles. Two windows positioned near the pedals allowed him to see any obstacles underneath the boat. The hand sticks moved forward and backwards and were connected to the front wing on the corresponding side. He pushed them both forward and the craft dove under water. Jia squealed with delight. He immediately pulled them both back and the boat returned to the surface. The one hundred and seventy-five horsepower engine propelled the efficiently shaped boat at fifteen miles per hour out towards the pod of twelve Indo-Pacific humpback dolphins that were playfully swimming in the straight. This wasn't the perfect clandestine vehicle as a wake was always clearly visible when performing a dive and the engine could always be heard. A little bit of help from nature was required.

Bond soon discovered the pedals moved left and right, which turned the jet nozzle left and right, turning the boat left and right on a level axis. The pedals also moved up and down which moved the jet nozzle and rear elevators up and down. The Seabreacher had a long snorkel concealed within the top fin which provided airflow into the cockpit. During the dive a butterfly valve closed to prevent the cockpit from flooding. Bond had read about the capability of the Seabreacher and knew that it could only be submerged just beneath the surface for brief durations, about two feet underwater for around twenty seconds at a time. Any deeper and the snorkel/dorsal fin, which was the air intake for the engine would be submerged causing the engine to stall, resulting in the boat unceremoniously popping back to the surface. The vessel was positively buoyant and had been engineered to always self-right. The heavy wings and engine weight were all located low in the vessel allowing gravity to assist this.

The time and depth the Seabreacher could dive to, varied greatly with the expertise of the pilot, of which Bond, by his own admission was a novice. After a jittery start he was beginning to grow in confidence, as the unusual controls became more familiar. The Seabreacher neared the playful dolphins, which seemed unconcerned with the approaching mechanical imposter, as they dove, flipped and travelled at great speed. Bond pushed his toes forward and pointed the jet nozzle downwards, forcing the nose to dip, taking the boat into a dolphin-like dive. The main wings had to be held down during the dive as they worked like airplane wings in reverse, offsetting the buoyancy of the craft, holding it underwater. He increased the throttle on the engine and Pulled his toes back pointed the jet nozzle upwards, which brought the boats nose up shooting the light weight body out of the water several feet into the air like a cork out of a champagne bottle. The Seabreacher then slammed roughly back into the water. As the pod and its surrogate relative neared the imposing white yacht Bond pushed the right stick forward and pulled the left back causing the "dolphin" to roll. He slipped away from his new-found friends and approached the stern of the yacht.

**0035**

**REPUBLIQUE DU ZAIRE**

The reduced light of early evening assisted their approach as the engine was switched off and the Seabreacher drifted to the back of the "_Republique du Zaire_". At the rear of the yacht was a large swim platform. The centre section could be raised to allow entrance to the tender garage. A bespoke tender clad in highly polished mahogany was moored along with a variety of toys and sport equipment. Staircases to port and starboard lead to three of the four upper decks. Both Jia and Bond leaped onto the platform. They took a moment to secure the Seabreacher and then made their way up the port staircase. Bond un-holstered the Beretta and screwed a short cylindrical silencer in place. The stairs lead to a corridor with guest staterooms down either side, six in total. All the doors were locked. Bond was concerned how easy the access had been. At the end of the corridor, half way down the ship two doors led to a fully equipped gymnasium. In between the doors were wide spiral staircases that lead to the next deck. Voices could be heard from the deck above. Jia motioned up the stairs which both began to ascend almost on tiptoes. Bond peered through a glass section of the door at the top of the staircase. The voices were coming from half a dozen people sat on white high-back leather dining chairs around a grand oval table. Patrice Adoula was clearly visible holding court. He was dressed in a charcoal Mao-style closed necked "Abacost" tunic and wore an envelope shaped leopard skin torque on his head. An image Bond recognised from the intelligence report on President Mobutu Sese Seko. Two oriental males were sat either side. One was dressed in full military dress uniform of the Peoples Liberation Army of China. Bond instantly recognised him from intelligence reports as General Zhao Shangzhi. He couldn't make out who the other was. The table was set for dinner with the finest porcelain crockery and leaded cut glass wine glasses. Several bottles of red and white wine were waiting to be served. Bond tried the door and it was unlocked. He glanced at Jia, confirmed she was ready and then twisted the handle and burst into the room.

As they entered the dining room Jia moved to the right and Bond manoeuvred left, weapons raised. All the occupants of the room reacted to the commotion, all standing. The unidentified guests turned in the direction of the intruders. John Smith starred directly at Bond. Bond aimed down the Beretta and began to apply pressure to the trigger. The unidentified guest moved his right hand towards his left side, his fingers slipping under his jacket. Bond adjusted his aim and the Beretta bucked twice sending the man toppling backwards.

"Stand down 007".A familiar voice barked the command. M stood to his right, looking stern. His left arm bandaged in a sling and surprisingly his head shaved. Bond lowered his weapon, confusion etched over his face. He glanced at Jia and could see she was clearly distressed, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her arms were out stretched and the QSZ-92 was pointed in the direction of Adoula.

"I suggest you convince your friend to lower her weapon 007. It would go a long way to avoiding a serious international incident".

"Jia; this is not the time" Bond pleaded as he placed his Beretta on the table. Jia hesitated, looked at Bond and nodded her understanding and then began to lower the QSZ-92.

"This is atrocious. What sort of organisation do you run Patrice?" General Zhao Shangzhi protested. He was a short fat Chinese man who was proud to wear the uniform and medals of a well decorated General of the Peoples Liberation Army.

Jia began to lower her weapon. The General called out

"Tiějiang".

Jia shot a glance at Smith and hesitated. She then twisted slightly to the left.

"I'm sorry James". The QSZ-92 fired once. A single neat hole appeared on the forehead of the General. He toppled over, a look of shock etched across his face. The wall behind was splattered with pieces of his skull and brains. Jia immediately placed the pistol on the table and raised her hands.

Jia and Bond were guided to two seats by two guards.

"Liu Jia and James Bond; we have been expecting you". Adoula motioned to Smith to supply refreshments from the bar. "Although I wasn't quite expecting that! Please clean this up and take the General and his bodyguard to the freezer". He ordered the two guards.

Smith walked forward towards the large fully stocked bar in the centre of the room and asked Bond what drink he would like. Bond coolly asked for a vodka martini "Shaken not…" Smith cut him off abruptly.

"Please you're not seriously going to ask for the clichéd "shaken not stirred". There's just one way to make a martini, it must be stirred not shaken. Anyone will tell you that shaking breaks up the ice and dilutes the drink; the difference on the palate is distinct. A vodka martini should be as fluid and silky as possible. Stirring for just 20 seconds ensures minimal dilution and minimal oxygen intake. Add a twist of lemon zest and it's simply sublime"

"I prefer mine shaken". Bond snarled.

"And what is your weapon of choice?" Smith enquired of M.

"Whisky: Straight".

"Do you English not know how to serve your drinks? A little water will bring out the subtle nuances. It will enhance the flavour, but if you insist. Shall I garnish it with a Cherry?" M ignored the blatant taunt.

Smith stared at Jia and goaded her "If I remember rightly, you have a liking for champagne, don't you?"

"Bastard". Jia swore, but remained in her seat.

"Zivko, please stop this cattiness and as seen as you have not asked, I will have a whisky on the rocks; the expensive kind. Then you should prepare yourself as we need to find out if Mr Bond is of value or a threat to us". Adoula chastised Smith using his rarely used Christian name for added affect.

The room was massive, almost the entire length of the yacht. At the extreme bow end of the deck was a section for washrooms and a lift that serviced four of the decks. The dining table also sat at the bow supplied by a dumb waiter connecting the kitchen three decks below. Accented by flashes of gold and cream, the main salon was separated from the formal dining space by a full-size bar. Lined with bespoke bar stools. Making the main salon more inviting, large windows flanked both the port and starboard sides to ensure that there was a steady flow of natural light entering throughout the day. More light was filtered through the glass of the swimming pool above, the illuminated pool was made completely of toughened glass and formed part of the rooms ceiling, allowing light to travel through the water, casting a glistening blue effect throughout the room. It was dark and the pool lights intensified the affect as several bikini clad women frolicked in the water. The effect was almost like a pre-title sequence of a Hollywood blockbuster and quite pleasing, if somewhat of a distraction, to Bond. At the rear of the bar was an enormous OLED television which formed part of the living area that completed the remaining space. Asumptuous pale-coloured carpet and white upholstery gave a light and airy feel. Adding to the sense of space and openness where long expanses of deep cream leather sofas lining the bulwarks to port and starboard, leaving the centre of the salon totally uncluttered. White armchairs and marble-topped coffee tables were scattered about, and four light grey poufs surrounded a chess board. African inspired statues and artwork were dotted around the salon. Aft was a set of huge doors that led to a balcony; shaded by the overhang of the sundeck above, a circular table sat at the centre, presumably for alfresco dining.

"Sir? I thought you had been killed in the Harbour tower explosion". Bond asked M unable to hide his confused relief. Smith served the drinks

"As you can see 007 I'm alive and kicking. I sustained only a flesh wound in the ambush". M adjusted his arm in the sling. "Although I was hooded most of the time and couldn't see where I was being taken. I do know we changed vehicles at some point. Just before we changed, they shaved my head. Presumably to leave DNA traces". M ran his hand over what was left of the closely cropped hair. "Unfortunately, James you may regret discovering my resurrection. You should have been on that flight back to London. There's no need for you to be here. You should have followed that simple instruction". M downed his whisky in one gulp. Motioning with his tumbler "I suggest you do the same James".

"I'm not sure I understand sir. To be honest my primary mission was to avenge your death. Now you are clearly alive…" Bond downed his martini none the less.

"He's sold out James. Isn't it obvious? He's turned his back on your Queen and Country" Jia was visibly angry as she blurted out the words.

"More like self-preservation young lady; I was given the option to go willingly and live a new life of luxury or be like a prisoner and live the life of a dead man. An easy choice I'm afraid. Just like your decision to kill the General". Jia ignored the comment.

"Go willingly where; The Congo?" Bond was now completely baffled, he chose to ignore M's last comment, for the moment.

"He would be welcome; His knowledge on anti-terrorism would be invaluable to my government, but sadly my dear, dear James my sponsors in Beijing have a greater need". Adoula spoke with enthusiasm, his deep voice booming "China has been a great friend of mine for the past twenty years. They funded my return to Zaire when Menga became a problem. His trade negotiations with your government were the final straw, after all their investment they were not prepared to lose anything to a third party. Even though you tried to prevent it, they facilitated his removal. I had no intention of supporting your Prime Ministers desire for trade; Beijing would not allow it".

"What happened on the plane?" Bond wanted to get to the truth around the death of a colleague.

"The rebels, some of them were aware of my close association with Beijing from a long time ago, for once banded together with the help of their Rwandan paymasters. It was those that paid mercenaries to kidnap me. The plane was to be diverted and I would be held for ransom or executed in some show trial, but your agent complicated their simple plan. He shouldn't have been on that plane. It was your Prime Minister that insisted he accompany me. She is responsible for his fate. Not me". Adoula was passionate but showed no remorse.

"Why wasn't your poodle with you?" Bond glared at Smith.

"He was otherwise engaged in Kinshasa".

"So, China had to try and rescue you?" Bond was cut off by Adoula.

"It is sad yes. The mercenary that took me handed me over to the local M23 rebels. Beijing tried a rescue attempt, but they were unlucky. A mechanical failure on their helicopter caused chaos. I could hear all those screams. I believe all the soldiers were killed. After that, all seemed lost; until you appeared; my saviour". Patrice Adoula beamed at Bond; a wide grin that showcased his wine stained teeth. He then turned and spoke more quietly. "Unfortunately that will not help you my friend. After your defence minister made his speech Beijing put a high price on obtaining Western intelligence and discovering how much the West actually knew. They formulated a plan to snatch and spirit away a key intelligence player. It was you, 007 who we intended to take, hence the reason for framing you with all those murders, but a bigger fish suddenly became available. You have now become the icing on the cake, as you Brits say. The lure of trade was the key to open the door. Your Prime Ministers eagerness to seal a trade deal at any cost and their dealings with Billecart and Loxley or should I just say Loxley now?" Adoula laughed at his own joke. "Her desperation has made you weak and vulnerable. Did she really believe what your small nation could offer would come anywhere near what China have offered to access our great wealth? Desperation makes people do careless things.

"China has big plans for the future now all their pieces are in place in Africa and their string of pearls across the Indian Ocean. They intend to dominate the world. Your defence minister ruffled some feathers when he intimated that you were aware of their intension, but it is the West's appetite and reliance on trade that has made them impotent to prevent this. The West is only interested in keeping their population in uncompetitive employment and maintaining the bottom line. All they can do is intimidate us into accepting their standards and beliefs with legislation like the Dodd- Frank act. You complain about human rights abuses, rape and genocide; where were your morals when you were Empire building and playing your Cold war games with our lives?" Adoula began to rant. "Whilst you put condition after condition on our ability to defend ourselves by restricting arms sales you allow war to ravage our continent. The Chinese have worked on a strictly business to business relationship. They have not interfered and have invested in a $9 billion resources-for-infrastructure agreement which will unlock our vast mineral wealth and improve the lives of my people. We will build new roads, rails, hospitals, and universities, not because we cow taw to Western ideals of morality, but because beneath our dark earth there is $24 trillion waiting to be mined; minerals such as copper, cobalt and coltan; the bones and blood of modern day manufacturing you in the West cannot live without. The DRC is sat on forty percent of the global economy. Only China has actually helped".

"I think you'll find their non-interference will result in an increased security presence. The PLA is already conducting regular joint training exercises across the continent protecting their infrastructure projects under their Belt and Road initiative". Bond was sceptical of Adoulas naïve understanding. "You will be no different from any other small and poor nations they have exercised their geo-economic clout over in recent years. The Maldives is on the verge of conceding its sovereignty to Beijing as a direct consequence of Chinese business taking advantage of the economic opportunities present in their small island country".

"For sure China is stoking its economic fire with African resources whilst those countries develop their economies with the help of Beijing's infrastructure projects. Everyone wins". M argued.

"All but those people who really need help. Forget democracy. Forget human rights". Bond countered, unsure why M had suddenly changed his outlook on life.

"I know the stats 007. Life expectancy is less than 48 years. One in five children will die before the age of five. Sixty percent of the country's seventy one million people live on less than one pound per day. More than four hundred thousand women a year are victims of sexual violence in "the rape capital of the world" It's far from a success story, but Beijing is at least offering a solution, even if the driving force is to buy preferential access to the country's resources. The West has turned a blind eye for far too long. The UK has sold its principles. The people have lost faith in their political classes. The world needs a new order, but the question is; what side will you both be on when the dust settles?" He spoke directly to Jia and Bond. "Neither of you will be allowed to endanger this arrangement; as the World believes I am dead, you will not be allowed to just leave freely. I don't expect you to die, but you will be offered the same choice as I was. It's a simple decision. Cling to an outdated doctrine supporting a failed government and lose your life or help build a new world. First though we need to know how much you know, who you have told and what you both intend to do". M explained.

"She intends to kill me. We have just witnessed how capable she is and she's already tried a couple of times. Zivko has been hunting her for weeks and came close to stopping her at your Eden Hall, but Mr Bond did what he does best and came to the rescue". Adoula lit a large cigar."You see we have somewhat of a shady history. I was not a good person when I was younger". He was almost remorseful but stopped short of apologising as he exhaled a cloud of white aromatic smoke. "But enough of this I have plans for Miss Liu. Now let us see what Mr Bond knows".

"Part of me wishes you would make this easy, but to be honest I would be disappointed if you did". M stared directly into Bonds eyes.

**0036**

**A shockingly poor vintage**

Two guards approached Bond from behind and restrained him by pulling his arms behind his back. They pushed him forward. He tried to struggle but their grasp was firm. Smith stepped forward, removed an Electronic Immobilization Device, EID from his pocket and pressed the terminals against Bond's neck. Two hundred thousand volts carried ten milli-amps of current into Bond's body causing his muscles to spasm. The high frequency power surge caused his muscles to work erratically, depleting his blood sugar by converting it into lactic acid. The resulting loss of energy made it difficult for him to move. At the same time, the tiny neurological impulses that travelled throughout his body directing muscle movement were interrupted. The shock hit him many times each second and Smith kept the device in contact for over three seconds. Disorientation and loss of balance immediately followed. Bond's head flopped forward, and his legs crumpled. The two guards supported his weight and dragged him over to one of the dining chairs. He was forced to sit down and firmly held in place.

"We need to know what your investigations revealed". Smith didn't expect a reply.

Bond's body weakened from the shock protested against his desire to fight back. Smith strode around the table and scooped up an oversized napkin, he also removed an open bottle of Dom Perignon 2003 from a silver ice bucket that sat on a side table. Bond didn't struggle, even though he knew what was coming. It was such a waste of champagne; even a 2003 vintage. Smith pushed Bond's head backwards and roughly placed the napkin over his face, covering it completely.

"Sorry we don't have any Bollinger". He then started pouring the sparkling liquid over Bond's covered mouth and nostrils. The sticky liquid frothed as it soaked the napkin. The champagne was poured on his upper lip. Someone firmly held his head, so he couldn't turn it away. Bond knew he could last approximately fourteen seconds by exhaling slowly through his upturned nose, temporarily keeping the champagne out. He knew though that when his breath ran out the liquid would start flowing in. As his controlled exhale began to falter, he coughed in a desperate attempt to try to blow the invading liquid out of his throat. The napkin formed a barrier, catching the liquid, keeping it in place. He tried to breathe in. The inhalation brought the damp cloth tight against my nostrils, as if a huge, wet paw had been suddenly and firmly clamped over his face. The champagne was sucked through the cloth of the napkin and ran down Bond's nostrils straight into his sinuses. He was totally helpless to stop this happening. He fought down the first wave of nausea and terror but soon found that he was an abject prisoner of his gag reflex. The effect of having his sinuses fill with liquid triggered a sensation of suffocation, followed shortly by an inability to expel the champagne that had saturated the napkin and been ingested and inhaled. In all essence he was drowning. The smallest amount of liquid in his larynx and trachea had an immediate, dramatic effect blasting a message along a hardwired hotline directly to the panic portion of his brain. It screamed a message that death was imminent. Short of breath Bond found himself clawing at the air with a horrible sensation of smothering claustrophobia.

Jia watched in total horror, memories of when she had champagne poured over her face came crashing back. She remembered Smith holding her down on the bed as Adoula raped her. She screamed as Bond struggled against is tormentors. He tried thrashing but was held firmly down by the two guards. A deep gurgling emitted from under the napkin as the bottle was drained. Smith removed the napkin from Bond's face and the guards released their grip. Bond fell forward and he vomited champagne onto the floor. His hands held onto the edge of the table for support as he wretched.

"Take the girl to my stateroom. She doesn't need to see any more". Adoula instructed. A black overall clad Chinese guard dragged Jia towards the elevator that would take them up two decks to the private room.

Smith reached for an unopened bottle of red wine and slammed it down on the out stretched fingers of Bond's left hand. Bond recoiled in agony.

"Wait a minute" M interrupted as his attention was drawn to Bond's left wrist "The watch; I believe that is service issue".

Smith looked down at Bond's wrist. He ordered the guards to hold the prisoners' arm firmly out stretched and then roughly unclipped the watch.

"Ah I forgot about this little gem. It's such a shame, but I never liked smart watches. They're worse than quartz, because of their lack of pedigree". He placed it face up on the table and brought the bottle down hard on the face. The sapphire crystal smashed revealing the secret electronics that lived behind. Smith ground the bottle into the delicate electronics, making sure they were destroyed.

"Open this". Smith ordered one of the guards to remove the cork from the bottle.

"Not the Domaine de la Romanee Conti, Zivko. That bottle is a '93 and cost over HK$210,000" Adoula uncharacteristically warned of the unnecessary extravagant gesture. He particularly liked the wine; not just because it was renowned as the best in the world, but simply because it shared the same initial as his beloved DRC.

"Spoil sport". Bond spat out venomously as he nursed his fingers.

"Get me another bottle". Smith ordered one of the guards as he replaced the bottle of Burgundy back on the table. "Are you going to make this easy Bond? Have you reported back yet and who was your friend in George Town?"

"There's nothing to report. Only that I appear to be a fugitive. Thanks to you. Nothing I say will be taken seriously". Bond managed to say between waterlogged wheezing. He coughed and gasped for air.

"Yes. We killed Menga. It was a bit of sloppy work on your part; not realising there would always be a backup plan. The girl in France was just collateral but helped spin the story that you were a rogue agent. She was a pretty little thing. It's all in the detail you know. Who was your friend?"

"I have associates all over the world. Do you want to know them all?"

"No just the one in George Town; we need to know what he told you".

"He wasn't my friend". Bond coldly announced, "If you are to persist with this torment can I ask you use a different vintage? The 2003 was a notoriously poor year for the little monk; too hot and released far too early. I prefer the 2002".

"It tastes fine to me". Smith retorted taking a swig from the bottle the guard had passed him, the foil and cork already removed.

"It's a vintage you'd drink at funerals".

"Be careful what you wish for Bond. I'm beginning to enjoy this".

"My doctor always said drink would kill me". Bond was again restrained, and his face covered by the drenched napkin.

"Unfortunately, this hasn't been chilled to the correct temperature". Smith began pouring the contents of the bottle over the napkin. Bond tried to overcome his natural instincts, as his sinuses filled; this again triggered a sensation of suffocation. He relaxed his body and a sense of calm began to infect his body. The drowning sensation ceased to get worse. He estimated he could hold his breath for three minutes, so he reasoned all he'd have to do was put up with the weird feeling in his sinus and he would have conquered his fear. He felt a rigid finger press against his solar plexus, the realisation they were monitoring his breathing came too late. A sharp pain exploded in his side as one of the guards punched the breath from his body. Unable to determine whether he was breathing in or out, Bond was flooded more with sheer panic than with liquid. Empty of air, his lungs in danger of collapse, he possessed no ability to inhale any more air. His throat, mouth, and nose were full of the fizzing champagne, and he no longer had the capacity to get it out. Bond's ears began to ring and lights flashed behind his covered closed eyes. Unconsciousness was approaching.

A sharp pain to the face brought him around; warm blood mixed with the sticky champagne as it ran over his lips from his nose. Bond opened his eyes and looked down the barrel of a familiar looking Beretta Nano.

"It looks like your doctor was wrong, for now, and I see you took my advice and upgraded the Browning you borrowed". Smith stepped to his left as Bond spat blood onto the floor; the bloody sputum narrowly missing Smith's immaculately polished brown derby shoes.

"This is a nice little handgun. I think I'll borrow it". He slipped the Nano into the waistband of his trousers. "I'm building a bit of a collection. I came by a Pico in Nice; a bit of a lady's gun that one".

"Clean yourself up 007". Ordered M as he retrieved a folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket and passed it to Bond. Bond felt something hard in the folds of the cotton material. He wiped his mouth and dabbed tenderly at his blooded nose, before pocketing the handkerchief in his trousers. He looked up at M, who ignored his glance.

"Yes. I must say you are looking a little bit shabby. Allow me". Smith walked to the back of Bond's chair and placed his left hand on Bond's chin, holding his head tightly. He pulled an ivory handled straight razor from his trouser pocket and opened it with a flick of the wrist. The polished blade gleamed under the room's lights.

"Are you man enough to be shaved without cream?" The blade dragged across Bond's cheek, tearing at his stubble. He grimaced as the hairs were tugged out at the roots, his skin protested at the assault.

"The art is in the stroke and making sure you pull the skin taught. Otherwise you…" Smith sliced the blade across Bond's cheek cutting into the skin "risk nicking the skin. Just like that. You know they also called the straight blade a cut throat". The flat edge of the blade was moved across Bond's exposed throat. "I once killed a woman with this very blade". Smith whispered and took great pleasure in feeling Bond's body tense.

"Patrice is this really necessary. I'm defecting not joining a sadist club". M still had a paternal instinct towards his former agent, and he was beginning to think all this had been more for entertainment than a serious attempt to gain information.

"I think we should get rid of him. We have what Beijing asked for". Smith protested and looked towards M. "Bond's too much of a risk. Give the word Patrice and I'll cut his throat".

"You may have a point Zivko". Adoula began to contemplate their next move.

"Black Swan; I know what you intend to do to the Kivu region. You and the Chinese have lost control to the rebels. Not even Beijing's Yuan can buy their allegiance. Irradiating the whole area though is a sign of utter madness". Bond hoped this speculation would buy him time. Adoula hesitated; a guard approached him and whispered something to him. Adoula then instructed Smith.

"Leave him for now. He obviously knows of our plans. We should hand him over to the Chinese as intended. They can deal with him. I still owe him my life after all, and I'd rather not stain the carpet". Adoula then turned to M, "I hope this doesn't change your plans?" M shook his head.

Two guards approached and practically dragged Bond towards an elevator that would take them below the water line to a makeshift prison.

"Tiějiang". Bond shouted towards Smith as he was being dragged away. "Very good Mr Bond: You can translate a variation of my surname into Chinese. That will come in handy where you are going, but I do prefer Smith these days". Smith wiped the razor with a napkin, folded it and placed it back in his trouser pocket.

Bond was thrown into the dark staff cabin that would be his cell. He landed roughly on the small single bed and heard the door being locked behind him. His fingers probed for a light switch on the wall. The room became dimly lit when he located it. Sitting up, he rested against the ship's hull and took in his surroundings. The room was functional, basically furnished with a bed, narrow wardrobe and small dressing table. He felt blood drip off his chin so retrieved the handkerchief from his pocket to dab his nose and the wound on his cheek. The hard object fell onto his lap. He picked it up, raised it to the light and spun it between his fingers. It was the Kazakhstani Tantalum coin M had shown him in his office what seemed like an eternity ago. M's words rang in his ears.

"..._a time when you knew who your enemies were and more importantly who your friends were_ ". Bond's bruised lips curled into a pained smile.

**0037**

**Zeus's Son**

"I think it is clear; 007 has been lured into a rogue operation by Miss Liu. He has always been one for the ladies. It looks like her mission was the General. This shouldn't affect what we have agreed". M followed President Adoula as he walked out onto one of the retractable balconies that extended the dining room out into the open warm evening Malaysian air. The constant rustle of the cicadas, the ones the Thais called Jakkajan and the loud distinctive call of the giant Tokay geckoes could be heard in the distant.

"Do you hear that?" Adoula dragged on his cigar and inhaled deeply as he savoured the sweet tobacco. He exhaled a swirling cloud into M's face. "Tokay, Tokay. It is a truly beautiful sound, don't you think". M nodded agreement; it was the distinctive sound of the tropics. "I had my concerns about you. Whether you were actual serious about defecting, but I now have a warmer feeling about our arrangement. My friends in Beijing will be pleased you have offered your services and like Tantalus you have also offered one of your children, a live 00 agent to sweeten the deal. I hope your exile will be more fruitful than Zeus's sons ".

"What of the girl?" M enquired. "China will want her back".

"I have unfinished business with Miss Liu. She has complicated our arrangement by murdering the General, but I have received word that the transaction will still go ahead".

"What was that Bond mentioned about Kivu?"

"We have a problem in that particular region. The rebels are backed by Rwandan forces and not even the military or financial might of China can change their ways. We have tried to reason with them; offered them vast fortunes, but they are all stubborn and lack intelligence. The FDLR, ADF, LRA, FNL and Mai-Mai militias3 will never unite. Their squabbling has made it impossible to deal with the Ebola outbreak. The civil war will continue with thousands of deaths unless we do something different. China has developed a weapon that will cleanse, isolate the region and remove the attraction for Rwanda. General Zhao Shangzhi gave me the honour of being allowed to field test it. We were wise enough to take steps to mitigate any negative aspects".

"So, China has finally developed the doomsday weapon and you intend to use it on your own people?" M had been aware of the weapons existence ever since Q had anxiously reported the finding of the covert examination of the memory stick Bond had asked him to analysis. M had chosen not to escalate the findings, as he was less than certain they would have been taken seriously.

"You sound sceptical; let me tell you this action I have decided to take will save lives. I have taken a lesson from the history books and applied the same logic President Truman did when he authorised the use of the first atomic weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Isn't it ironic that the uranium used in those devices was mined in the Shinkolobwe mine in the Kantanga province of the DRC? The DRC is truly the birthplace of Shiva, the destroyer of worlds". He laughed loudly. "I will take lives to save many more. The added benefit will be our shares in the Tantalum mines your government so graciously assisted in purchasing will increase dramatically in value. We will be extremely rich because of this Black Swan event".

"What about the medical regiment the UK has deployed to the region?" M enquired nonchalantly; not wanting to sound too concerned.

"As you in the West like to say; collateral damage is inevitable in war. We will blame the Rwandans. Then maybe the UK will solve another problem by taking revenge against our most uncooperative neighbours. Do you have a problem with this?"

"No. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good".

"Excellent. We can both look forward to a more prosperous future".

"Then I suggest we celebrate. I'm a keen wine buff and I cannot pass on the chance to sample one of the world's greatest wines. I've always wanted to try the Domaine de la Romanee Conti, but my civil servant salary has never allowed me that particular indulgence". Adoula's face morphed into a massive smile. He waved at a waiter who had been patiently standing in the corner of the lounge.

"Open the Romanee Conti and bring two glasses, after all this is a time for celebration".

**0038**

**THE SLEEP AND THE WAKE**

The one hundred and eighty-metre-long "Republique du Zaire" juddered slightly as the two 16,500KW Siemens engines came to life and began to push the giant yacht through the relatively calm Anderman Sea. Their route would follow part of the early coastal trade route between India and China with Sri Lanka to the west and the Myanmar ports of Thaton, Martaban, and Tavoy to the east.

Rising dramatically from the emerald sea were surreal, gravity-defying limestone karsts4 which had been sculpted by millennia of monsoon rain and winds into spectral spires. The surrounding seascape was dotted with islands cloaked in forests of greenery. As a spectacular skyline of towering jagged rocks and islands slid past to port, the yacht navigated clear of several hundred fishing pots, some marked by orange and black flags, that stretched across its path. The route took it close to the coastline where rich vegetation and trees hung from the cliffs. Rustling in the branches a chorus of screeching monkeys and fruit bats announced the onset of night as the light began to fade.

Jia was escorted to the yachts master suite by a small insignificant Chinese man. His face was unsmiling, emotionless as he gripped Jia's left arm tightly, pushing her out of the small elevator into the suites private study. The study was clad in traditional dark mahogany and a comprehensive library formed part of the starboard wall. The centre piece of furniture was a large desk seemingly made from a patchwork of silver metal pieces with a matching chair and a firm maroon leather sofa looking aft through double doors on to a sundeck that gave views over the main pool deck. The sundeck was complete with an oversized Jacuzzi that you could slip from and travel down a twisting slide into the larger pool one level below. Jia took in her surroundings as the guard roughly manoeuvred her towards the bedroom. A small letter opener carelessly laid on the desk caught her eye. She scooped the blunt stainless-steel blade up in her right hand and slid it up the sleeve of her jumper. The guard pushed her into the bedroom, closed the door and locked it. Jia immediately looked around for an escape route; she tried a door that lead out to a wraparound walkway and retractable balcony, but it was unsurprisingly locked. A staircase led down to large his and hers en-suite bathrooms, finished in grey veined marble and boasting an enormous bathtub; there was no means of escape. She returned to the main suite which was dominated by a large centrally positioned super king-sized bed set against the stern wall; another room to the left of the bed proved to be a walk-in wardrobe fully stocked with Adoulas extensive range of designer clothing. This room ran down the back of the study but was also devoid of any means of escape. Jia collapsed on the bed in frustration. As she looked around through tear filled eyes, she placed the letter opener under one of the enormous pillows. The bedroom was brightly lit and decorated in white with a pale thick pile carpet and white bed linen. A wrap around window faced aft, giving the occupant a view of the direction, the yacht was travelling in. This could be darkened at the flick of a switch. Under the window was a dressing table with a retractable wide screen television that also acted as a mirror when not used for entertainment. Another bottle of Domaine de la Romanee Conti, a 2006 La Tâche, Grand Cru, stood expectantly beside two Baccarat Harcourt Louis-Philippe crystal glasses on the dressing table. Two contrasting navy-blue leather armchairs sat either side of the table and a white leather chaise long was randomly positioned along the starboard wall. African objects were dotted around; none were more prominent than the old war-torn flag of Zaire that was framed above the bed. The emblem of President Mobutu Sese Seko's Republic was a light green flag, ornamented in the centre with a yellow circle in which a right hand was holding a torch with a red flame. The room radiated a stalk masculine vibe, but there were two objects that filled Jia with horror. She had noticed them on entering the room but had tried to control the terror they had incited within her and the memories that had been brought flooding back. The bed was flanked by two bronze female statues. She remembered their names; the first was called The Sleep and her friend was called The Wake. Names she would never forget.

**0039**

**BLACK SWAN**

Throughout the night the "Republique du Zaire" had ploughed silently through the still water and past the mangrove clad coast line of Northern Thailand and the island of Phuket before heading further west out to sea towards the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. As the early morning mist cleared M sat on the pool deck sipping Singapore's TWG Breakfast Earl Grey tea from a bone china cup, no milk or sugar. He had grown to appreciate the brand, with its hand stitched teabags, since it had opened a restaurant and store in Leicester square. He inhaled the aroma of bergamot as he rubbed his temple to ease the low throbbing pain behind his eyes. The pain was a result of over indulgence with drink the night before. Adoula proved far too easy to sidetrack. The lure of another drink had distracted him from any intentions he had in mind towards Jia and it wasn't long before he had passed out on one of the lounge sofas. He was still there, snoring heavily. The mild headache was a small price to pay, although his recovery was hindered by the distant background noise of the jungle; the whistle and rhythmic whoop-hoo, whoop-hoo, whoop-hoo night call of the indigenous Macaque monkeys could still be heard in the distance competing with Adoulas snoring in the otherwise silent yacht. The temperature was increasing as the sun rose above the hills on the mainland. The night temperature had not fallen below 22°C due to the abundant cloud cover; the mugginess though had gone completely unnoticed by the yacht's occupants in their air-conditioned cabins. The temperature began to rise as the clouds burnt away. M studied his surroundings as he savoured his drink. He wasn't alone; Smith sat at the opposite end of the deck. There was no interaction between the two men, but M knew Smith was probably monitoring him, even though he appeared engrossed in strip cleaning Bonds Beretta. He was doing a competent job, working silently. The only noise he made was when he ordered one of the guards to fetch him a box of ammunition. M looked down at the pen Q had given him before setting off for Singapore. It appeared to be a completely normal stainless-steel fountain pen, but as with most things supplied by Q's department everything was not as it seemed. He placed the pen back in his trouser pocket. The deck area was dominated by the large glass pool that formed part of the lounge ceiling. At one end under the master suite was another oversized Jacuzzi. The twisting slide from the private Jacuzzi entered the pool to the starboard of the lower Jacuzzi. Changing rooms and toilets sat behind. Above the master suite was the bridge, adorned with a whole array of antennae and rotating radar. Two guards dressed in black and armed with assault rifles looked down upon the main deck and pool area. They were discreet, but M knew they were monitoring him. He had not completely earned Adoulas unquestionable trust yet. The main deck was covered in traditional varnished dark wood offset by sea foam green lighting; several chaise loungers and C shaped sofas were dotted around. At the stern end of the pool was a fully stocked bar, part of which could be accessed from the pool. Beyond the bar was a shaded seating area with steps either side that allowed access to the helicopter pad. The crimson Chinese and Hong Kong flags flapped gently in the breeze, starkly reminding M of his choices. He considered the implications of Operation Black Swan. A Black Swan event he knew to be a metaphor that described an event that comes as a surprise, has a major effect, and is often inappropriately rationalized after the fact with the benefit of hindsight. The use of a doomsday bomb would not only resolve the regions problem, but it would also increase the value of Chinas share of their rare minerals. Whilst the West floundered, tying itself in knots with their environmental legislation, China would dominate the supply even more than they already did. All the pieces of the jigsaw were there. It most definitely would be a black swan event.

The tranquillity of the misty early morning began to fade as people started to appear on the deck. Half a dozen scantily clad girls in expensive bikinis and even more expensive jewellery began their daily ritual of sunbathing and frolicking in the pool. All were attractive and had clearly been paid to be there. It was no surprise to M that the girls' presence extended beyond making the place look pretty and their skills took on a more physical nature whenever Adoula or his guests felt the urge. Their playful splashing in the pool and loud laughing stopped when two guards escorted Bond onto the deck and guided him towards M. Bond had showered and changed into a fresh set of black overalls that he found hanging in the cabins wardrobe. The fit was loose, but adequate.

"Morning sir".

"Good morning 007. You can leave us now". M dismissed the guards. A waiter came shuffling over to their table.

"Tea?" M offered.

"Have they anything stronger?" Bond replied dismissively.

"Coffee". M advised sipping his Earl Grey.

Bond reluctantly ordered a strong black coffee from the waiter, who scurried away and promptly returned from the outside bar with a large cup of steaming liquid.

"Where do you think we are heading?" Bond whispered.

"Devil's Island".

"Sir?"

"The Coco Islands. Myanmar territory, but they've had a Chinese presence since the early nineties. The PLA is thought to have built a SIGINT collection facility on Great Coco, the Devil Island". M explained. "The Burmese re-instated an old British penal colony, and the abundance of coconuts on the island became a source of food for it, hence the name. The prison gained the reputation of being a "Devil's Island".

"I can imagine with the isolation; lying at a crucial point for shipping routes between the Bay of Bengal and the Strait of Malacca. They certainly appear to be ideally placed for monitoring Indian naval and missile launch facilities in the Andaman Islands to the south and movements of shipping throughout the eastern Indian Ocean".

The "Republique du Zaire" was heading for the largest Island; Great Coco. The Islands consist of three main islands, Great Coco Island, Little Coco Island and Table Island with several surrounding small islets that lie 185 miles south of Myanmar's Yangon Region. The islands formed part of the Anderman and Nicobar archipelago; a collection of two hundred and four islands in the Bay of Bengal; most belonging to India, except for the three northerly Coco Islands. When Burma separated from India in 1937 and became a self-governing Crown Colony, the islands remained a Burmese territory. In 1942, along with the rest of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, they were occupied by Japan. When Burma gained independence from the United Kingdom in 1948, the Coco Islands passed to the new Union of Burma.

"Can I ask why you are here sir? I don't believe you are serious about defecting, but you appeared to just surrender in Singapore, and you threw away our only hope of calling for assistance when you gave away my watch". Bond frowned.

"You really need to read the instruction manuals of all these devices Q branch issue you with, 007". M chastised. "I needed something extra so as to be accepted. Giving up your watch was a calculated risk. After reading your report on your interaction at the Negresco I knew Smith was aware of its potential capabilities. It was only time before he remembered and removed it. If you had taken the time to read the manual, you would know that the watch contains a personal locator beacon. A miniaturised dual frequency transmitter linked to the Cospas-Sarsat international satellite alert system. Any serious violent impact will trigger an automatic distress call. It should be only a matter of time before a friendly Navy vessel comes looking. As for why I'm here; that is partly down to you".

"Sir?"

"Promise me when this is all over, you will stop asking Q to go behind my back. The man's a nervous wreck".

"He analysed Cherry's memory stick and then told you?"

"Yes. He did the right thing by reporting his findings to me, the existence of a tantalum bomb, and the involvement of our government in procuring illegal shares. We appear to have gotten ourselves in a very dark hole indeed. I felt the intelligence would be conveniently lost if I escalated it, given the current political environment. Which left me only one option; deal with it myself?"

"I've always been ready to serve Queen and Country".

"I know 007, I know. Nothing good is going to come out of this affair. My time in the service is coming to an end; you could still have a future. There is one other reason, or should I say person. Smith took something very dear from me. The report identified the link between Adoula and Smith. Regardless of the cost to me Smith will not see the end of the day."

"You could have instructed me to kill him. I would have gladly carried out that order with extreme prejudice..."

"This is something I must do James. You see Cherry was my daughter. I met her mother in Northern Ireland during the troubles. I was serving undercover in the SAS when we became involved. Before I knew she was pregnant I was abruptly redeployed, my cover was wrongly thought to have been blown. I only found out she was mine last year". M's voice croaked with emotion. He looked around trying to avoid eye contact with Bond and began to mumble. "They tried to cover up her death; all in the name of trade. Perhaps I should really defect". His attention was drawn up to the master suite. Adoula had appeared on the sundeck his left arm draped around Jia's shoulders. Adoula was as usual smiling. He excitedly waved his bandaged stump at the two men. Jia's face was completely devoid of any emotion.

"Do you think the girl will be ok?"

"I suspect she can handle herself. Even with a complete madman like Adoula". Bond stared up at the sundeck.

"He's deranged. Operation Black Swan proves that". M sipped his tea.

"That was a pure guess, I put two and two together and it looks like I came up with four. I used the phrase from the report we found in Nice. He intends to use a Tantalum salted nuclear warhead supplied by the Chinese on the Kivu region. If he can't have the regions riches, no one can; a typical megalomaniac. Not sure why it's called operation Black Swan though?"

"Rara avis in terries nigroque simillima cygno" M spoke fluent Latin.

"A rare bird in the lands and very much like a black swan". Bond interpreted but was none the wiser.

"When the phrase was coined, the black swan was presumed not to exist – a phrase that became reinterpreted to teach a different lesson after they were discovered in the wild in Western Australia. In this case no one would anticipate the removal of the DRC's supply. Such a removal would have a catastrophic effect on technological markets and in hindsight all the evidence was there pointing towards Chinas dominance: The stockpiling of resources, the clandestine colonisation of Africa and the Indian Ocean, the West's reliance on their markets. Everything points towards this, but we're blind. Like 9/11 it was the failure of imagination that prevented anticipating such an event".

"The question is; how do we stop it".

"By letting the World know before it happens, which means you have to get out of your current situation".

"We have to get out sir: We". Bond emphasized the plurality.

Smith approached. He wore Bonds shoulder holster containing the freshly cleaned Beretta.

"Good morning gentlemen. The time for your departure will soon be upon us. I suggest you prepare yourselves, as life is going to be very different from now on". A smirk spread across his face. He clicked his fingers and two athletic bikini clad girls, one blonde and one brunette, both with enhanced breasts came scurrying over, giggling. He wrapped his arms around their waists and guided them away towards one of the shaded sofas. "I suggest you do the same. The women in China can be pretty miserable".

**0040**

**Devil's Island**

A Chinese Harbin Z-20 helicopter skimmed the still sea. It flew low as it neared the "_Republique du Zaire_". The helicopter approached from the rear of the yacht through a heat haze that partially masked its arrival. As the machine neared its intended target it swooped upwards and gently touched down on the yachts Heli-pad like a large bird of prey settling on a makeshift perch.

M and Bond were moved towards the landing pad by three guards and Smith. Before he climbed aboard the helicopter Bond noticed a red coffin made of wood positioned at the edge of the landing pad. He thought it slightly strange but presumed it to be an unusually decorated tool locker. President Patrice Adoula walked over to both men and held out his hand. M accepted the gesture and shook it. Bond shrugged his shoulders declining the offer. Bond looked past him to where Jia stood, her face was impassive, she looked away, avoiding eye contact. Only her bloodshot eyes gave away the emotion she was feeling. Adoula shouted over the whooshing noise of the helicopter.

"Just remember you are both an integral part of freeing a great nation from a terrible disease and a vicious civil war. I will always remember you". He then turned to Smith and spoke close to his right ear. "Ensure no harm comes to either. At least until the bomb is safely on board". Smith nodded his acknowledgement. All three men climbed aboard the helicopter. The noise of the turbine amplified as the pilot increased the throttle and lifted the helicopter free of the yacht.

As the Harbin dissolved into the hazy distance Adoula took hold of Jia's arm and squeezed it tightly. Even with only one hand he was still immensely strong.

"You are to be my mistress. I will keep you locked away for my own personal pleasure". He whispered. "But before I allow you to pleasure me. You must prove yourself in combat". Jia pulled her self-free of Adoula's grasp.

"With whom: A one-handed lunatic?"

"My dear: Do you not know the tradition in the Congo of fighting the dead?" Jia looked incredulously at Adoula. Had he gone completely insane? She became aware of people gathering around the edge of the Heli-pad, guards and the girls from the pool. The hypnotic beat of drums and loud melodic trumpets began to play over the yachts sound system. The sound increased in volume as the crowd began to chant and shake themselves into frenzy encourage by Adoulas orchestration. The crowd had surrounded the Heli-pad. Jia was pushed into the centre. They laughed loudly. Four guards dragged the red tool box forward from the edge of the pad and retreated closing the circle. The lid began to open on the coffin.

The helicopter approached Great Coco passing over two Chinese Naval ships, the Type 52D destroyer Changsha and the Type 54 Hengyang frigate. Both were moored in the twelve-mile-wide Coco Channel that separated the Island from the North Andaman Landfall Island.

Bond looked at M; the rumours of increased Chinese involvement on the Island were clearly true. The Island was approximately six miles long and a mile wide and shaped like a machete. The land rose steeply on its western side and gradually sloped down towards the sea on its eastern edge. Most of the land was covered in tropical forest with coconut palms covering the lower slopes and fringes. At the northern tip of the island was an uninhabited lighthouse that dated from 1867. South of this lay the runway that dominated the north.

The original runway had been built on a former coconut plantation in the early nineties and was only long enough for local small aircraft. Recently a massive expansion had begun. The southern end had been expanded by carving out a large chunk of an adjacent hill side. The excavated earth had then been used to reclaim land and extend the northern end of the airstrip out into the sea. The water was kept at bay by a thick concrete retaining wall. The expansion meant the runway was now long enough to service the full range of military and commercial aircraft. More land had been reclaimed by extensive use of concrete blocks and tetra pods along the coastline. A pier to the east of the airstrip, big enough to service large naval vessels had been constructed, yet again from concrete. The Chinese replenishment ship "Luomahu" was currently in the process of unloaded. Steel girders and pallets were being lift from the moored ship by two enormous cranes and loaded onto waiting flatbed Lorries. The helicopter followed a leisurely trajectory around the southern tip of the airstrip. It flew over a large dusty building that appeared to be a cement mixing plant which would have been established to construct the cement blocks and tetra-pods. There were several other buildings around the airstrip; a control tower with an attached reception building and several military type aircraft hangers. There also appeared to be defensive positions armed with thirty-five-millimetre cannons. Vehicles moved efficiently like ants between the buildings and a large plane on the runway.

"A Chubby girl!" Bond used the planes nickname to identify the Xi'an Y-20 military transporter. It was the first time he'd seen the four-engine behemoth outside an intelligence briefing. Ground staffs were unloading what appeared to be a large crate from the rear of the plane. M acknowledged the observation, but his attention had been drawn to the highest point of the island where a new radar station with a large ray dome had been constructed. The new addition had been built near the old fifty-metre-high antenna tower. Around the dome were two vehicle sheds and two Short Range Air Defence SHORAD vehicles. He made a mental note that one was the latest FM-2000 missile system and the other LD 2000 radar guided eleven barrelled thirty millimetres Gatling cannon.

"Is that the bomb?" Bond shouted to Smith, enquiring about the large crate. Smith ignored him.

"So, you're really going to set off a nuclear device and kill thousands of innocent people?" Bond again directed the question towards Smith.

"Death is the business I'm in". Smith spoke indifferently.

"Didn't you get enough of that in the Balkans? Don't you have any remorse?"

"You talk as though you are so different. You are not. I did regret the girl in Nice. What was her name, Cherry? Such a waste and she was so beautiful". Smith unfastened his harness and lent forward towards Bond. Steadying himself with his left arm, holding onto the helicopter fuselage, he removed the Beretta Nano from the shoulder holster and waved it in front of Bonds face. "Did you sleep with her Bond, even though you're old enough to be her father?"

"The relationship was purely business". Bond was conscious of M's presence.

"I doubt that. Just before she died, she claimed you were her lover. That's a strange thing to say. She said it with such passion or was it desperation?"

"That was her cover. Damn you". Bond replied with venom.

"No damn you". Smith swung his Beretta at Bonds face, making contact across his right temple. The blow was sufficient to knock Bond unconscious. Smith replaced the weapon back in its holster to allow him to hold on with both hands as the Helicopter began to swing around towards the landing zone.

"She was petrified you know, just before I slit her throat. They never believe it's going to happen, until they feel the searing pain of the blade. I think she wet herself". Smith grinned taking a sadistic pleasure out of the thought as he directed his attention towards M.

It happened instantly and completely unannounced. M's safety harness was flung open and he lunged forward; the Q branch pen grasped firmly in his hand, stretched out in front of him pointing directly at Smiths face. Smith's reactions were well honed, and he deflected M's arm just as the firing button was depressed.

**0041**

**Catch ****Fétiche.**

Snakes began to sliver out as the coffin lid sprang open. Small pythons and brightly coloured snakes Jia couldn't identify spilled onto the floor. The snakes in the coffin parted and unravelled as a body slowly rose to a rigid sitting position. The body was that of a naked Negro woman, her back was as straight as a board and her flesh glistened with sweat. The woman's head gradually turned towards Jia, her dark hair was wild and bushy, and her eyes bulged, never appearing to blink. The crowd began to stamp in rhythm with the drum beat. Jia desperately searched for an escape route, but the circle was tight: There was no way out. The woman rose out of the coffin. She moved with a feline grace standing tall at almost six feet, completely naked. Her legs were long, and her breasts were large, full and firm; a machete and ball hammer were held in each hand.

Jia recognised the woman. She was one of the hospitality girls and had clearly been drugged. The woman hissed as she began to manoeuvre around her prey. Jia had heard of the current trend in the DRC for Zombie wrestling known as Catch Fétiche; a mix of American WWF pantomime and mystical voodoo rituals. Wrestlers were frequently drugged and used voodoo amulets to imbued special powers. Jia didn't believe in the supernatural or much like the pantomime, but the reality in front of her was terrifying. The woman pounced forward, her jaws snapped as she bit at the air between them. The machete swung above Jia's head; slicing the humid air. Jia dodged the hammer as it bludgeoned its way towards her face; then side stepped the approaching woman and taking advantage of the momentum pushed her to the ground with a slap of bare flesh against bare flesh. The crowd screamed working themselves in to frenzy. The aroma of marijuana was thick in the air. A snake was picked up by one of the jeering observers and thrown towards Jia; she screamed as it hit her and bounced on the floor before slithering away. The machete was again swung in Jia's direction. This time the blade nicked her forearm as she instinctively held it up in defence. She recoiled in pain and again the zombie woman attacked. The hammer caught a glancing blow to Jia's right shoulder sending her crashing to the floor. Her assailant prowled around her, appearing unsure when to make the final attack. The crowd screamed for blood. The woman raised her arms above her head and leapt forward. Both weapons were swung in the direction of her prey. The machete and hammer came scything down, Jia rolled to the left. The steel weapons bounced off the reinforced floor wrong footing her wide-eyed zombie assailant. The woman crashed forward, smashing her nose as she hit the ground. Jia sprang to her feet and kicked both weapons clear. The zombie woman screeched as she leapt up. Her fingers and long nails curved like a hawk's talons searching for bare flesh. Jia again side stepped, grabbing her attackers' arm and launched her towards Adoula. The crowd intercepted and pushed the woman back. Jia scooped up the machete and hammer and prepared for the next rabid onslaught. It didn't come. The drugs were starting to wear off. The zombie woman, her eyes no longer bulging appeared to have lost her aggressive instinct. She wiped her nose with her forearm and looked horrified at the blood left behind. Tears began to well in her eyes as she became aware of the crowd and her nakedness.

"Finish her". Adoula screamed towards Jia. The crowd started to chant

"Finish her, finish her…."

Jia took in the atmosphere of the baying crowd, felt the pain in her arm and shoulder and looked at the wretched creature that stood before her. She raised the machete and hammer in the air as though celebrating her triumph. The crowd again screamed for blood. Jia moved forward. The crowd cheered as she moved in for the kill. She hesitated and then launched the weapons over the heads of the crowd throwing them as far as they would go out into the still Anderman Sea.

"To hell with your freakish rituals". She screamed.

Adoula was furious almost foaming at the mouth as he ranted obscenities to anyone who was listening. He removed a small revolver from his waistband, pointed it towards the Zombie woman and pulled the trigger at point blank range. The woman immediately collapsed convulsing on the floor as a stream of blood pumped from the wound on her head. A guard approached Jia from behind and struck her hard at the back of her neck with the butt of his assault rifle. Darkness descended as she crumpled to the ground.

#

The tip of the Q branch pen exploded in an incandescent red flash, sending a flare bouncing into the cockpit and blinding the pilot and co-pilot. The Harbin manoeuvred violently from left to right as the pilot instinctively tried to avoid the burning flare. He was completely blind and couldn't see the rapidly approaching runway. The helicopter hit the ground hard crumpling the under carriage, which absorbed much of the impact forces. Smith had tried to reach for the Beretta, but his arm was violently flung away as the helicopter impacted. His left arm was almost dislocated as he held on tightly. His legs were thrown brutally in the air and then slammed back down when the helicopter shot back into the air as the pilot reacted and increased the throttle, twisting it full on. The helicopter spiralled upwards and dipped towards the jungle that bordered the runway. A small clearing would have offered an opportunity to bring the stricken vehicle down in a relatively controlled manner, but the blinded pilot was unaware of a lone coconut tree that lay directly in the path of the mortally wounded machine. M and Smith exchanged punches as they clinched each other tightly, neither wanting to release the other. Their bodies were thrown around the cabin as the helicopter flew out of control; both men trying to get the upper hand. The fingers of Smith's left hand had found M's face and were gauging into his eyes. M pulled viscously on the younger man's hair and then rammed his forehead into Smiths nose when the pressure on his eyes was momentarily freed. The tip of the helicopters tail scythed through the tree's fronds; the branches shattering the tail rotor. The impact again tossed both men helplessly around. The force of impact against the rear seats of the cabin separated them. M managed to cling onto a nylon strap that formed part of the safety harness as he watched Smith desperately try to find purchase, sliding towards the large open cargo door as the helicopter swung dramatically sideways and upwards. His arms thrashed helplessly around as he slipped out of the cabin and was flung clear of the stricken helicopter. M felt a moment of satisfaction as he observed the fear on the man's face. Again the wounded pilot instinctively reacted to his situation and the multiple warning alarms that screamed at him; retarding the power control levers to idle, which instantly reduced the power provided to the main rotor and lowered the collective, both having the effect of limiting the overall torque of the main rotor and preventing the machine from spiralling out of control. The Harbin, minus a good chunk of the tail, flew forward almost straight with only a couple of dramatic semi-pirouettes which led into a wobbly, descending forward motion, giving the appearance of the pilot having regained control. It flew out over an area of shimmering white beach, before its nose pointed downwards towards the crystal-clear sea.

As the Harbin returned to relatively level flight M managed to get himself back into one of the seats and fasten the safety harness. Bond was showing signs of coming around. He looked up, confusion spread across his face.

"James. Brace for impact". M yelled.

Both M and Bond were fastened into the bucket seats by their four-point harnesses. Both men had frequently travelled via helicopter and therefore had had the mandatory crash training. This kicked in immediately. Each pulled the straps as tight as they could, then crossed their arms and gripped a shoulder-belt with each hand, creating a pocket over their chest, which they tucked their head into. Their instructor had told them "A good brace position will help you survive a hard impact". Bond glanced at M and notice his thumbs were pointing upwards, not locked around the strap in a classic fist, only his fingers held tightly onto the straps. It was a small detail but reduced the risk of dislocating the thumbs on violent impact. Working thumbs could prove vital in locating and operating the exit handle on a closed door during any escape attempt. Bond immediately copied M's example and braced for the impending impact.

Adoula hastily dragged Jia into the bedroom and launched her onto the bed. The fight had aroused him greatly. Jia's eyes were wide with fear. Memories of an evening long ago came flooding back. She impulsively scrambled to the furthest point of the bed, away from her assailant. The headboard stopped her retreating further. She sat with her knees pulled up tight under her chin as Adoula prowled around allowing his stump to caress the statues that stood prominently at the foot of the bed.

"Do you recognise these two beauties? I am told they are the original ones from Kawele reclaimed from the markets in Brazzaville. It is fitting that they are here to witness our re-acquaintance".

"Go to hell". Jia screamed.

"It is true I will probably go to that place, but I intend to enjoy myself before that fateful day comes and live up to my membership. Even though it was decades ago, I still have a taste for you. You see, you left an impression on me; a fire that I have never been able to dowse. In fact, I think I shall marry you when this is all over". He moved to the dressing table and picked up the bottle of Domaine de la Romanee Conti. It had already been uncorked. He poured a healthy amount into the two crystal glasses that had been pre placed next to the bottle and offered one to Jia.

"Drink with me. It is good wine, the best. It is the colour of fire, just like the fire that burns within you". He pointed at the label. "You see the initials DRC. This is fate. We should celebrate our engagement". He took a sip from the glass, revelling in the wines splendour and then offered Jia the same glass. "I have told the girls and staff to take the tender to the Island and enjoy the beach. Other than a few security staff we are virtually alone. You can be as loud as you like". Adoulas eyes widened with heightened anticipation.

"You're stark raving mad. Do you honestly think I would marry you?" Jia scrambled on the bed as Adoula neared, holding the glass of wine out in front of him as though it were a peace offering.

"Given the unfavourable alternatives; yes, I do. Naturally I would take many more wives, so you would not be alone".

Jia's fingers pushed under the enormous pillows and met the cool steel of the letter opener she had hidden the night before.

"Now drink this and then take your clothes off". Adoulas patience had immediately evaporated. It was as though a switch had been pushed changing his mood instantly. Rage was etched across his face.

The Harbin hit the water hard. The rotors clipped the surface and violently shook the body before being ripped off with immense violent force. The occupants were slammed back and forth. Loose objects bounced around the cabin. Sea water blasted through the shattered windows of the cockpit, as if from a high-pressure hose. After the initial violence the fuselage settled, gently bobbing on the seas surface. Bond reached up with his left arm and located the frame of the gunners exit window, making it a point of reference. He then released the seat belt with his other hand and stood. The helicopter had settled belly first and appeared to be floating; water was starting to rush in through both open side doors. Bond looked over at M, who was struggling to free himself from his seat. The harness had released with ease, but the shock absorbing seat had collapsed trapping his feet. Bond moved to assist and immediately felt the helicopter become unstable and start to roll. The cabin instantly became submerged as the body flipped upside down and started to sink. Time was now vital; once flooded the fuselage would sink toward the bottom at an alarming rate. Bond drew a deep breath just as the water frothed over his head. There was a moment of panic, an urge to fight for air and grab onto something, before the water imbibed a calming effect and his training took over. He had managed to manoeuvre himself into an upright position, but in doing so had lost his point of reference. M had taken his breath but remained trapped, now suspended upside down. Visibility was low, but not the total darkness they trained for and would experience if they had ditched in the North Sea. Bond felt his way around the cabin. He took a moment to remap his reference points and mentally adjust to his world being literally turned upside down. With that moment, clarity came; he knew what needed to be done and he knew which two items he needed to achieve it.

The shell of the helicopter thudded on to the seabed throwing up sand and lowering the visibility even further. Bond moved across the cabin crabwise holding onto the seats above his head, keeping his feet firmly on the cabins roof. He groped in the murkiness near the exit door and his fingers contacted a steel cylinder about the size of a litre soft drinks bottle. The Emergency Breathing Device or EBD had a mouth piece and valve attached to the top. It would give M and Bond valuable additional time, up to a couple of minutes if neither panicked and they maintained a steady slow breathing rate. Bond pulled it clear of its retaining clips, twisted the valve and took a breath of the compressed gas. He then moved sideways towards M. His fingers felt for M's face and once located offered the mouth piece to his lips. M gratefully accepted it, taking the cylinder in his hands. Bond pulled hard on the upturned seat to free M, but it remained firmly in place; he then began searching for the second item; this would possibly be more difficult to locate. He crouched and probed the roof of the interior. Anything loose that resembled a crowbar would do. Unfortunately, most loose items had been ejected out of the large open doors during the crash. The initial search proved fruitless and painful, as he bruised his fingers and thumbs against the hard metal interior fittings. A barracuda brushed his shoulder, causing him to exhale in a flurry of bubbles. Now the initial commotion of the impact had settled the predatory fish had gained confidence and begun to explore the potential new source of food. Bond hated barracudas; he'd experienced their razor-sharp teeth on too many occasions. The close contact also reminded him of the other dangers that could be found in tropical waters; sharks, Octopus and venomous sea snakes. How many were waiting outside. Conscious of the effort he returned to M and took a reviving breath from the EBD and then continued with his search. This time he concentrated above him, tugging at the fittings in hope that one would give way and offer a useful tool. A hard pipe like object poked him in the face. His hands defensively moved upwards, and his fingers wrapped around the barrel of a sniper rifle that had been slung on one of the seats by its strap. Bond unhooked the strap and tightly held the rifle as he shuffled back towards M. After taking another short blast of air he inserted the rifle barrel between the floor and the base of the seat, taking care to avoid M's trapped feet, he then pulled down with all his might. At first the seat remained stubbornly in place; the barrel buckling slightly. Bond tried a second time; he was almost out of breath. The seat shifted downwards, moving sufficiently for M's suspended weight to pull his feet clear. He gently drifted downwards as Bond pulled him clear and pushed him towards the exit. M manoeuvred himself clear and pushed towards the exit. A black tipped shark erratically swam around the fuselage, fortunately black tips were not renowned as being aggressive and it timidly kept its distance. The Barracuda though was getting more excited; darting in and out of the upturned helicopter. Bond calmly allowed M to take one final breath from the EBD. He then made sure he remembered to exhale during his ascent by pointing to his own mouth and blowing a small amount of air out from between his lips. Failure to exhale could cause a fatal stroke inducing air embolism to form. M acknowledged his understanding by raising his right thumb. Bond pushed him towards the surface and then inhaled one final time from the almost depleted cylinder and pulled himself back into the cockpit to check the pilot and co-pilot; both were unsurprisingly dead and firmly held in their seats by their harnesses. He searched the pilot, removed his sidearm and placed it in his trouser pocket and then pulled himself through the shattered cockpit window and pushed hard towards the surface, exhaling as he rose. Moments later the Barracuda struck. Its rows of razor-sharp teeth sank into the pilot's face, tearing a chunk of flesh from the cheek and nose. A dark cloud of blood began to spread from the wound and out of the cockpit. Bond kicked harder for he knew the blood would attract a whole host of hungry predators and he didn't want to be around when they came to feast. The extra exertion depleted his air quicker than expected and just as his lungs began to scream and threaten to give out, he broke the surface.

Jia reached out to accept the glass. Adoula's rage dissipated as rapidly as it had come. A smile began to form on his face; she had accepted defeat, she was to give herself to him. As the fingers of Jia's left hand touched the wine glass Adoulas smile morphed again into a grimace of shocked pain as the blunt steel blade held in her right hand was jabbed repeatedly into his forearm. The glass dropped to the floor and shattered, its crimson contents staining the white bedding and carpet. Jia rapidly moved, throwing herself off the bed. She rammed the blade into Adoulas right thigh causing him to collapse to his knees. She moved around his stricken body, grabbing a clump of hair and pushing his head forward preparing to drive the blade into the base of his skull. She had longed for this moment for a life time. Adoula realised he was in mortal danger as he felt the blade press against his skin. He cried out through gasps of fear and pain.

"If you want your friends to live you will reconsider my proposal". Jia hesitated. Damn, he was right. James was in danger. She reluctantly released her grip on his hair and removed the blade, dropping it to the floor.

Adoula gasped with relief. He had almost wet himself from fear. He smugly turned to congratulate Jia on her decision. The open bottle of Domaine de la Romanee Conti came smashing down on his skull. The glass bottle shattered causing sharp slithers to slice into his scalp as the force knocked him into unconsciousness. The white lacerations turned red as blood began to seep and blend with the expensive red wine, both staining the white carpet.

M and Bond swam back towards the shimmering beach. The helicopter had fortunately crashed near the shore and only required minimal effort to traverse the short distance back to the safety of land. They dragged themselves through the frothing water onto the beach. After a moment to recovery and regain their breath M stood, slightly unsteady on his bruised ankles.

"I'm going to find Smith. I need to know if he's dead or alive".

"I'll come with you". Bond began to stand.

"No 007. You get back to the yacht and the girl. This is something I need to do".

"We can do it together sir and then deal with Adoula".

"You've always been loyal James, but the girl needs you right now and you need to stop the operation. That's an order".

"At least take this sir". Bond offered M the pilots sidearm.

"The PLA's out there James. You'll need it. Hopefully Smith will already be dead, but I need to know for certain".

"I'm sorry".

"Sorry?"

"Cherry. I failed her and you".

"It's not your fault James. I should never have sanctioned…." M's voiced trailed off.

"It's been an honour sir". The realisation burnt into his soul that this was farewell, and it could be the last time he would see the man who had stood by him for so long, been his mentor, boss and friend. He held out his right hand. M shook it firmly.

"Don't worry about me. What can they do? Remember I'm already dead!" M turned and hobbled towards the jungle that bordered the beach.

"Sir". Bond called out. M turned and instinctively caught the object that had been tossed towards him. He unclasped his fingers and looked down at the tantalum coin.

"If you ever need a friend".

M smiled as he placed the coin in his pocket and then stepped into the jungle.

Bond checked the pilot's firearm he had retrieved. It was an ugly old compact Type 59 semi-automatic pistol based on the Soviet Makarov. The magazine was full of nine rounds. The pistol had been well maintained and oiled and showed little effect from being submerged in sea water; the slide pulled smoothly back as he chambered a round. He had started running down the beach towards the northern end of the runway. He'd not got very far when he heard a small outboard motor approaching from the sea. Bond took cover amongst the thick foliage that spilt onto the sand from the jungle.

A rigid hulled inflatable boat with a small wheelhouse on top and a pedestal mounted machine gun positioned at the bow came into view as it bounced around the headland, smashing its way through the waves at full speed. The boat was manned by three uniformed soldiers. Two in the wheelhouse and one clinging on to the threatening Type 80 general purpose belt fed machine gun. Bond lay still, aiming down the barrel of the pistol. He knew he was already hopelessly out gunned and that was before he'd confirmed that the other two soldiers would be armed with assault rifles.

The patrol boats engine abruptly cut as it nudged the soft sand of the beach. One soldier jumped into the shallow water and waded through knee deep water towards the shore. As Bond had predicted an assault rifle was clutched close to his chest. The soldier emerged onto dry land under the watchful eye of the Type 80. He immediately began to search the area. Bonds hopes were raised when the soldier appeared to be happy with his cursory search. He turned and shrugged his shoulders and started to return to the boat. The soldier manning the Type 80, possibly due to his elevated position was more thorough. His attention was drawn to the line of foot prints that scared the otherwise pristine, untouched sand. He shouted to the soldier on the beach, instructing him to turn around and continue his search.

At the northern end of the island lay a rocky outcrop that jutted from the surrounding jungle like a skeletons finger. Waves collided with the rock throwing a light spray of salty water in the air. At the end of the outcrop stood a cylindrical stone lighthouse that was crowned with a lantern and gallery and was painted with red and white horizontal stripes. Around the base lay two derelict single-story buildings. One made of stone and the other from weather beaten hard wood. M had caught a glimpse of the distinctive red and white bands as the helicopter spun out of control, just before Smith had been thrown clear. He had therefore made his way towards the tip of the island in order to search the area. Fortunately, the jungle wasn't thick at this point, but his search had been unsuccessful in locating any sign of Smith. He stepped out onto the old path that had been carved through the rock which led towards the lighthouse. Someone who was injured may seek refuge in the old building, perhaps the lantern and gallery could still be used to signal for help. M noticed fresh blood smeared on the path as he neared the striped column. Fortunately, it had not been washed away by the encroaching waves. His sensors immediately tingled with a sense of danger. He was a predator closing in for the kill, cautiously manoeuvring around the base, like a wild cat circling its prey, crouching to keep his profile as small as possible. A quick search of the out buildings proved fruitless. He moved towards the open entrance to the tower. A shot rang out from inside and rock splinted at his feet. M dashed forward and pushed himself up against the cool rock of the building. The pain in his ankles had disappeared with the flood of adrenaline that had surged through his body. He suddenly wished he had taken the pistol that Bond had offered and wondered what to do next. Realising his options were limited, so limited that there was only one; attack. He steeled himself and rushed through the open door, hoping any shot that came his way would miss. Moving low and fast he entered the dark, cool, musty interior. A round passed by harmlessly above his head. The thunder of the pistol in the confined space caused more harm to M's ears than the poorly aimed bullet. He pushed himself up against the wall, hiding in the dim light. Shuffling could be heard as someone, Smith, made his way up the spiral stone staircase. M cautiously moved forward ascending the stairs in pursuit.

Bond now realised the odds on being found had dramatically increased; he knew he had only one chance. He had to be swift and accurate. The soldier turned towards him, Bond stood and fired twice. Both bullets hit the soldier manning the machine gun, throwing him back against the wheelhouse, shattering the glass and spraying blood across the aluminium frame. Bond advanced forward into the open. He again fired twice, double tapping the soldier on the beach before he could raise his rifle. The soldier collapsed onto the soft sand, its blinding whiteness gradually turning red. The boats engine burst into life, as the remaining soldier attempted to escape into the open sea. Bond again fired, this time emptying all five remaining rounds into the wheelhouse. He rushed forward snatching the futuristic looking QBZ – 95 – 1 assault rifle from the downed soldier on the beach. Cautiously approaching the boat, he aimed through the rifles optical sight. The soldier in the wheelhouse could not be seen, but that didn't mean the threat had been removed. He may be hiding, preparing to fight back. Bond cautiously approached the boat as it nudged its way aimlessly further onto the beach. He peered over the edge of the hull. The soldier manning the machine gun lay lifeless in a pool of blood. The two bullets had punctured holes just below his throat. He continued to wade around the boat. The soldier who had been the pilot was on the floor, sprawled half way out of the wheelhouse, a bullet had entered through his left eye and exploded out of the top of his skull. Bond pulled himself aboard the RIB and after a short time stripping and manhandling the two bodies over the side, into the sea, he pushed the throttle into reverse, dragging the boat off its sandy pedestal and then applied full throttle taking the boat in a wide ark in the direction of the "_Republique du Zaire_".

"Give yourself up Smith. It's over". M optimistically shouted, his voice echoing around the confined space of the lighthouse. The reply came in the form of another deafening roar as another bullet smashed into rock followed by a groan of pain. M noticed more fresh blood on the steps and smeared along the wall. Smith had obviously been injured in the fall from the helicopter. The thought occurred to him that if he retreated and just left Smith alone, he would probably die of his injuries, but he couldn't do it, he needed to look the man in his eyes one last time. He rushed forward with renewed purpose. The lantern could now be seen, as light flooded into the stairwell from the glass gallery. M dashed up the last few steps into the gallery. He ducked as another shot rang out, the bullet smashing a glass pain to the right of its intended target. M could now see Smith as he opened a door that lead outside to a steel gantry that circled the top of the building. The man was almost doubled over with pain; his head had been injured in the fall judging by the amount of blood that covered his face and soaked into his clothes. The right side of his skull was swollen, bloodied and ripped. A large gash stretched from his chin to the virtually closed right eye. His right arm hung limply at his side, probably broken or dislocated at the shoulder and he stumbled with a pronounced limp from his right leg. He wobbled backward and collapsed against the tubular steel fence that ran around the gantry. M ceased the opportunity and pounced forward. Smith saw the movement and fired the pistol one more time. This time he hit his target. The 9mm bullet sliced a furrow through M's right shoulder stopping his advance.

"Christ; not the shoulder again". M screamed. He instantly knew that although painful the wound wasn't serious.

"Stay where you are". Smith mumbled through bruised lips. He regained a modicum of composure by forcing himself to stand tall, his left arm out stretched holding Bonds Beretta Nano.

"This is only going to end one-way Smith. You're a dead man walking".

"Not from where I'm standing. Our friends have just arrived". The thumping sound of a helicopter turbine engine increased in intensity as a Harbin swooped around the lighthouse and hovered menacingly close behind Smith. M could see the pilot, anonymous behind his helmet and shaded visor. "You'll fulfil your obligation and I'm going to get some much need medical attention". A grotesque smile formed across the left side of Smiths face. M stood helpless; his hand was applying pressure to the wound on his shoulder to stem the flow of blood. The pain was starting to make him feel nauseous. This couldn't end like this.

"You know I'm going to kill you. Today, tomorrow, next week…"

"She must have meant a lot to you". Smith laughed and then spat blood.

"She was my daughter damn you".

"That is sad. Please accept my sincere apologies, but it also means you will never stop until I am dead, and I cannot allow that to happen. It would be highly irresponsible of me not to capitalise on my current advantage". Smith aimed the Beretta at M's head "My masters won't be happy with this, but good bye". His index finger applied pressure to the pistols trigger. A click nothing else. He squeezed harder; still nothing. The gun had jammed.

"You should have used a heavier cartridge. They're less likely to jam". M realising this was his only opportunity, before Smith could clear the stoppage he rushed forward screaming with rage; his hands hitting Smith under the rib cage forcing him up and against the steel fence. His intension was to push Smith over the fence, but the rusty old structure gave way under the impact and both Smith and M were launched out towards the Helicopter and its rotor blades. The helicopter pilot had been watching the whole situation unfold but had not expected two bodies to come flying towards him. He instinctively pulled hard right and up; swinging the aircraft out of dangers way. Like a stunned bird, it momentarily wobbled, and then quickly regained its composure as the pilot resumed full control.

M had grasped hold of Smith's belt as they left the gantry and both men plummeted down the side of the light house. Large waves crashed against the rocky outcrop throwing up a briny mist around them. Smith was the first to hit the roof of the wooden outbuilding. It gave way immediately on impact and both bodies crashed through into its dark interior. Smith's body cushioned M from the initial impact but the momentum threw him sideways across the wooden floor slamming him against one of the walls. He writhed in agony as the impact purged his lungs of air. The dark interior was damp and a thick cloud of ancient disturbed dust floated in the air. M could hear Smith groaning, as he struggled to regain his own breath through the cloying dust hanging around him. The dust began to settle, a blade of sun light flooded through the hole in the roof, slicing through the floating particles. The outline of Smith's body began to develop in front of M like an old grainy photograph. The light piercing through the roof acted like a spotlight illuminating his prone body. His back had snapped on impact, his body limply folded face up over what appeared to be a large cast iron pump housing; motionless. Blood bubbled out of his mouth as he tried to speak. M ignored the pain of his own injuries, stood and hobbled over to the broken body of Smith. He looked down through stinging tear-filled eyes at the man who had taken so much away from him. More blood gurgled from between Smith's lips. M looked down at the dusty floor and noticed the cut-throat razor had fallen out of Smith's trouser pocket. He knelt and picked it up, unfolded it and pressed it against Smith's throat. Both men stared intensely into each other's eyes. No words were exchanged. M felt no triumph in his vengeance, only hatred and sadness in equal measure. It would have been easy to swipe the blade to his right and slice into the man's throat, as he had done to so many of his victims. Victims like Cherry, but he just pressed harder. Smith was literally a broken man and no matter how much M wanted to, how much he needed to. He just couldn't murder a helpless man. The blade broke the skin and blood began to seep around its edges as M's hands shook with rage. Rage not just at Smith, but his own inability to ruthlessly finish the job. Smith coughed, his mouth erupting more blood. M thought he heard the words "Do it" just as Smith's eyes gently fluttered and closed for the last time. The noise of the helicopter invaded the stillness. M turned to leave. He hesitated; a glint in the murky light had caught his eye.

The helicopter erratically circled the building like an angry wasp, its rotors slicing through the gossamer mist of sea spray. It buzzed around several times before landing on the rocky outcrop. Half a dozen Chinese soldiers spilled from either side, glad to be on firm ground. They advanced towards the light house and the out buildings.

M emerged from the building. His arms raised in submission. The soldiers cautiously approached their assault rifles at the ready. One of them, the one who looked to be in charge screamed orders in Mandarin. M folded his hands behind his head and dropped to his knees.

'Let the games begin'. He whispered to himself.

**0042**

**Perignon 2003.**

Bond cut the engine as the RIB neared the big yacht. A tender was moored at the rear on the port side, so he approached silently from the starboard side. There was intense activity as soldiers transferred a large crate from the tender to the rear garage section of the yacht. A helicopter had been stationed over the yacht but had peeled away and flew rapidly back to the Island, passing over the RIB as it approached. Bond wore the uniform jacket of one of the dead soldiers. It was a tight fit, but from a distance helped his deception. He waved at the departing helicopter. The assault rifle he'd procured was wrapped in the other uniform jacket in a futile attempt to keep it as dry as possible. Satisfied he had not drawn any unnecessary attention he discarded the tight jacket and plimsolls and lowered himself over the side into the water holding the rifle above his head and then began to tread water towards the rear of the yacht. Once at the rear Bond held onto a stainless-steel ladder that normally assisted fun loving socialites in and out of the warm water as they frolicked and whiled away careless afternoons off the Côte d'Azur. He stayed there until he was satisfied that the men transferring the crate had moved inside. When satisfied that there was no one in the immediate vicinity he discarded the jacket that covered the assault rifle and climbed up the ladder. He padded across the floor in bare feet and climbed on to the tender. The man at the controls was looking in the opposite direction and did not hear Bond approach. A choke hold sent him into a long deep sleep. Bond wasn't sure how many more men were on the yacht: One down, probably a hell of a lot more to go. He unclipped a QBS 09 Semi-automatic Shotgun from the wall of control house, slung it over his shoulder and moved towards the garage area; the QBZ - 95 - 1 assault rifle held out in front.

HMS Albion; a one hundred and seventy-six-meter-long amphibious transport dock capable of carrying four hundred sailors and Royal Marines with a displacement of almost twenty thousand tonnes ploughed its way through the still Andaman Sea. The long flat loading dock was packed with the trucks, machinery, water craft and helicopters; the ship was a "Jack of all trades" and known as the Royal Navy's 'Swiss Army knife'. Captain Ian Beaumont was proud of his ship and its versatility. He stood on the sparse functional bridge and looked out to sea.

"Any sighting yet?" The question was direct at everyone who was searching for the yacht, whether visually or manning the complex radar that was scanning ahead of them.

"Nothing yet Sir: We are nearing the Nicobar archipelago so are seeing a lot of clutter on the radar". An anonymous ensign shouted out.

"This yacht of yours has obviously moved on from the point where the distress signal was sent. Let's hope your friends are still in a position to be rescued". Captain Beaumont had a friendly demeanour belaying his position, but it didn't hide the seriousness of his comments. As if to underline the comment Felix Leiter's phone burst into a synthesized rendition of "The star-spangled banner".

"I do apologize. I don't seem to be able to turn this blasted thing off". Felix embarrassingly fumbled with his phone, cursing a certain James Bond under his breath. The phone had been playing the tune every half hour since the distress signal had been triggered.

"Let's hope the fact it is still playing is a good omen and we locate Commander Bond and the young lady in a timely manner".

#

Down the centre of the garage was a track of rollers that allowed the wooden crate Bond had observed being loaded onto the yacht to be moved easily into its interior. He moved forward past the stairs that ascended to the next level and cautiously through the double doors that led into the workshop. Four soldiers were carefully manoeuvring the crate. They were so absorbed in the task that they didn't hear him enter the room. Bond coughed and the soldier nearest turned around. He immediately stared down the barrel of the assault rifle. Bond flicked the barrel upwards, motioning the soldier to raise his arms above his head. The soldier complied with the request.

"Gentlemen: It is time for your break". The remaining three soldiers spun around on hearing the unfamiliar voice "Jǔ shǒu". Bond ordered the others to raise their hands. There was always one; Bond knew it deep down, he hoped no one would give him reason to open fire, but there was always one who wanted to be a hero. The furthest soldier from Bond partially hid behind the others moved for his rifle that was leant against the yachts hull. Bond fired as the soldiers' finger tips touched the barrel. A row of bullets punctured his targets torso, throwing him into the corner of the pristine room. The sound of the rounds deafened in the enclosed space. The soldier closest to Bond snatched at the assault rifle and received a round between the eyes for his effort. He collapsed wide eyed to the floor. The other two soldiers darted for cover, searching for their own weapons. Bond strode over one of the dead bodies and unleashed a burst into one of them as he struggled to release the safety catch on his sub-machine gun. The remaining soldier attempted to escape the way Bond had entered. He vaulted over the roller track and was almost through the double doors when a burst of rounds raked his back, tossing him helplessly across the deck. Bond tossed the empty assault rifle to one side and picked up a QCW-05 suppressed submachine gun. He instinctively flicked the safety off and placed the weapon over his shoulder. He wondered how long it would take more soldiers to come rushing down, now he had announced his arrival. It wouldn't be long, but before they did, he decided he would remove the crate from the yacht. Bond started to push the crate along the rollers. It moved surprisingly easy. Nuclear weapons with all their immense destructive power were surprisingly not very heavy. Once momentum had been gained the crate freely flowed out through the double doors and out the back of the garage. It hit the end of the track and skewed sideways toppling into the calm waters. The crate bobbed gently, threatening to stay afloat and then ever so slowly began to disappear below the surface of the Andaman Sea.

"See you later irradiator". Bond murmured as he started to ascend the staircase that led to the next level.

"Sir we have visual identification of the "_Republique du Zaire_": Straight ahead, two miles". A Seaman called out from the bridge of HMS Albion.

"Good: Straight ahead full steam. Eighteen knots".

"Sir the Type 52D destroyer Changsha has moved from her anchorage and is also moving towards the yacht".

Captain Beaumont glanced at Felix and raised his right eyebrow.

"This is where it gets interesting. All hands action stations". The Captains command initiated a flurry of activity accompanied by flashing lights and shrieking alarms.

Bond was halfway up the curved staircase when the first soldier came rushing down the confined space. They met head on. Bond ducked and drove his body forward at groin level. The forward momentum of the soldier helped Bond flip him over his shoulder and send him crashing down the stairs. Another soldier immediately came into view and was cut down by as short muffled burst from the QCW-05. The cylindrical shape of a stun grenade bounced down the steps and stopped next to the fallen soldier. Bond dragged the body over the grenade and looked away, covering his ears. There was a muffled bang and flash. Training pushed Bond forward, climbing over the dead man. Another grenade rolled downwards, this time a more lethal fragmentation kind. Bond scooped the egg-shaped grenade up in his hand and flicked it back up the stairs. The explosion came within seconds followed by a medley of groans. Two of Adoulas guards were laid prone on the floor, wounded. Bond walked past them and clinically fired a burst of 5.6mm rounds into each. He ran along the deck with the hospitality cabins and made his way to the spiral staircase that joined the dining / lounge deck.

Bond reckoned there were four men in the lounge area. He pushed the door gently open and slipped into the dining room, using the large dining table as cover. A guard stepped from behind the bar that separated the lounge from the dining area. Bond clicked the QCW-05 into single round fire and aimed at the guards' forehead. Simple pressure on the trigger stopped the guard dead in his tracks. He collapsed to his knees. The back of his head split open. The other guards, noticing their colleagues' demise started firing wildly in Bond's direction. Large chunks of the table were thrown in the air as the automatic fire raked the surface. Bond rolled to his left, flicked the selection lever of his sub-machine gun to a three round burst and returned fire. Another guard was blown backwards over one of the leather sofas. A neat row of bullet holes across his chest. The padding of the sofa erupted from puncture holes like escaping steam. Glass and crystal began to explode on the bar as Bond advanced into the lounge. Expensive liquor coated the room and champagne erupted from several smashed bottles. The two remaining guards attempted to flank Bond. The one to his left was cut down as a bullet severed his carotid artery. The guard clutched at his neck trying to stem the fountain of blood that gushed from the wound. His weapon discharged as he fell backwards in a death throw; the bullets peppered the glass ceiling of the lounge. A row of jagged holes punctured the toughened glass releasing a fine spray of water from the swimming pool above.

The last remaining guard made a desperate lunge at Bond, charging from the right. He made contact and both bodies tumbled back into the bar area. The guard was a heavy man and his whole weight pinned his opponent down. Bonds machine gun had been knocked out of reach and the shotgun that had been slung over his shoulder was trapped beneath him. The guards' breath made Bond feel nauseous as he panted heavily and closed his hands around Bonds throat, his finger nails dug into his skin. Bond tried to move but the weight was immense, and he felt like his head was being pushed through the floor. Shattered glass began to slice his skin as razor sharp shards were ground into his scalp. Through the pain he could feel the signs of approaching unconsciousness as the pressure on his throat increased and his supply of air began to deplete. The guard adjusted his position as he exerted more downward force on Bonds throat. The movement allowed Bond to free his left arm and desperately search the floor for anything that could be used as a weapon. His fingers felt the sharp edge of a shattered champagne bottle. Ignoring the pain, he grasped the blade of glass and drove it into the guards' side. The shocked guards' eyes widened as he recoiled with pain and released his grip from around Bond's throat in order to clutch at his wounded side. The repositioning allowed Bond to strike once more. He used all his remaining strength to drive the glass shard up through the man's exposed throat. Thick blood streamed down his arms as he pushed the glass further and further into his windpipe. The guard's eyes closed as he toppled sideways freeing Bond, his mouth skewered with a piece of champagne bottle, a section of the label was still attached. It read "Perignon 2003".

"Not bad for a dubious vintage". Bond licked the sticky champagne off his bloodied fingers.

**0043**

**HMS Albion**

As HMS Albion approached the yacht its radio on the bridge burst into life. A voice with a strong oriental accent spoke methodically. "HMS Albion you have entered territorial waters without seeking prior approval. You are violating Chinese law and all relevant international laws and are infringing on China's sovereignty. We strongly urge you to stop this provocative action. Your actions are not in accordance with bilateral relations and regional peace and stability. Please change your course immediately".

Felix lent across to Captain Beaumont "The last time I looked these islands fell under Myanmar jurisdiction not Chinas".

"Tell them we are exercised our rights for freedom of navigation in full compliance with international law and norms. We calculate we are twelve and a half nautical miles away from the nearest land mass which incidentally is The Coco Islands Myanmar territory. Remind them that twelve nautical miles is the internationally recognised territorial limit. Therefore, we are sailing in international waters and to re-in force our stance. Drop anchor". The radio operator repeated everything and awaited further instruction. Several minutes passed before the reply came.

"China has a close association with our brothers in Nay Pyi Taw and has been awarded indisputable sovereignty over the islands. China also enjoys sovereign rights and jurisdiction over the relevant adjacent waters as well as the seabed and subsoil thereof. If you do not withdraw, we will be forced to take any and all appropriate actions".

Captain Beaumont reached over and picked up the radio microphone. Before he spoke into it he turned to a Petty Officer and instructed him to attempt to contact the yacht. He then clicked the microphone.

"You have no right to inhibit freedom of navigation by belligerence or militarisation sir. We have received information that one or more persons are in danger of being lost at sea. We therefore have a duty to render assistance".

"Sir, there's a RIB in the water approaching the stern of the yacht. I estimate six armed hostiles attempting to board".

Bond heard a sound behind him and pirouetted around raising the shotgun in the direction of the commotion. His finger started to apply pressure to the trigger and then he recognized Jia running towards him. A look of pure terror etched across her face. He began to lower the shotgun and instantly realised the reason for Jia's unashamed anxiety. She was being pursued by an enormous, muscle bound soldier charging down the corridor like a distressed rhinoceros; his arms out stretched and his oversized hands almost upon Jia.

"Get down". Bond screamed. Jia recognised the voice and launched herself forward flat against the floor. Bond pulled the trigger twice in succession and the shotgun bucked violently spraying shot in the direction of the rampaging soldier. The double dose of 12 gauge shot hit him square in the chest hurling him back down the corridor. A large cavity ripped through his ribs. Jia scurried over to Bond and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

"What took you so long?" She nuzzled his neck. He could feel her shaking.

"We're not out of the woods yet". They could hear the sound of stamping boots on the stairs that led from the garage. Bond surveyed the lounge, bodies were strewn around, and the furniture was ripped and torn. Water sprayed from the bullet holes in the toughened glass swimming pool like emergency sprinklers. He looked up at the leaking ceiling and noticed fine cracks begin to slowly propagate from the bullet holes like spikey tentacles reaching out. The gossamer spray of water warped his view of the approaching assault force as they tentatively entered the lounge, fanning out as they passed through the double doors. Bond knew this was his only chance. He aimed at the point where water was leaking the most and started pulling the trigger. The QBS 09 roared and bucked at each pull until the magazine was empty. The contents of four shells smashed into the weakened glass. All the fine cracks began to rip and tear open and become one; the weight of water did the rest. Bond grabbed Jia and dragged her back down the corridor as the glass gave way releasing a tidal wave that surged through the shattered ceiling and crashed down into the lounge. Tons of foaming water stampeded through the room churning furniture, fittings and bodies into a violent thunderous maelstrom as it rampaged towards the aft of the yacht smashing into the advancing assault team and sweeping them aside. Some were washed over the balcony and others were flushed back down the stairs they had just ascended. Bond held Jia tightly. Most of the water had flowed rearward, only a small amount lapped at their feet as they stood at the end of the corridor next to the elevator doors.

"Where's Adoula?" he demanded.

"I left him unconscious in his suite".

"Time to finish this then". Bond searched his surroundings for weapons; they weren't difficult to find. He handed Jia an automatic pistol taken from the giant who had pursued her and selected another sub-machine gun from several scattered on the floor. Both instinctually checked that the mechanisms worked freely and that the magazines were reasonably full.

They took the elevator to the stateroom and entered through the private study. Bond led the way into the bedroom: Unsurprisingly Adoula was nowhere to be seen. Jia pointed towards the stairs that led down to the en-suite bathrooms. Both cautiously padded across the plush carpet and began to descend the stairs. Patrice Kitengi Adoula was sat in the dim room on a marble and gold toilet; a cushion was held tightly to the wound on his head. He appeared disorientated more than in pain.

"So, you have returned my friend. Do you intend to do me harm or have you come to the rescue again"?

"I'm afraid I should never have rescued you in the first place. Creatures like you don't deserve it". Bond didn't hide his revulsion of the man.

"Everyone has opinions, but the reality is your country needs me. Your Government needs the riches of the Congo and I am the Congo. They are like a heroin addict, desperate for the next fix. You are a servant of your Country. You have been tasked with protecting me by your Prime Minister. Do your duty". Adoula demanded and began to stand.

"You are right. I cannot give you the justice you deserve, but I know someone who can". James Bond stepped to one side and stared blankly out of a small porthole that allowed a vestige of natural light to invade the otherwise dark room. Adoulas jaw dropped and his eyes bulged as Jia stepped out from behind Bond. She shook with emotion; a life time of waiting had cumulated in this moment. The pistol was held at arm's length. No words were spoken; she pulled the trigger once, twice and continued until the magazine was empty.

When the ringing in their ears had subsided from the explosive rounds being fired in quick succession in the confined space, Bond turned to Jia, removed the smoking weapon from her hand, and spoke as a wry smile spread across his face.

"Quite fitting really, he always did want to die on his throne".

Felix was inspecting the "_Republique du Zaire_" through a pair of binoculars. He noticed a small fire had started at the stern and several windows had been blown out. He scanned the length of the yacht and then noticed the Chinese ship come into focus just beyond the bow of the yacht.

The Type 052D Luyang III-class destroyer was China's first dedicated multi-role guided missile destroyer. Felix followed the ships lines taking note of its armament. He counted sixty-four vertical launch cells, each capable of carrying one to four missiles. All capable of carrying the deadliest Chinese anti-ship cruise missiles, the YJ-18 ASCM or the type 83 anti-ship missile along with land attack cruise and anti-submarine missiles. Stations were also visible to launch the HQ-9 surface-to-air-missiles. All backed up by powerful search and targeting radar. He scanned the destroyer from bow to stern and adjusted the focus as he settled on the helicopter landing pad at the rear. A Harbin Z-20 was being loaded with heavily armored troops. HMS Albion was no match for this man "o" war.

"It's an impressive vessel. Like our Aegis class and it looks like they are getting ready to take the fight to the yacht again".

"We're clearly outgunned and I'm afraid Commander Bond and the lady are on their own, but we'll stick around and make a show of it. Anything they can do we can do with more style and panache". Captain Beaumont declared with optimistic confidence. "Let's make it clear we have seen their aggressive posturing and show them we are prepared to take the appropriate measures". He instructed the radio operator and then turned to his Executive Officer. "Right I want marines on a Merlin and get the rotors turning and spin up the Wildcat for good measure". He referred to two of the helicopters that formed part of the ship's aviation contingent. "Make sure they see Sting ray torpedoes being fitted to the Wildcat, but under no circumstances are they to take off without my express orders. Diplomatically we are now in a minefield".

"Sir, there is no reply from the yacht". The Petty Officer reported. Another Seaman called out.

"Sir. They have a drone up. No chance of getting a RIB over to the yacht unseen now". Observations were starting to come thick and fast. The tension on the bridge was palpable.

"Good they will see our preparations but get a sharpshooter in position. If we get eyes on Commander Bond, I want that drone taken down".

**0044**

**An important decision**

Bond opened the humidor on the bar and chose a Cuban Montecristo Churchill Anejados cigar. He placed it between his lips and selected a match from an ornate container next to the humidor. The container had protected the matches from the deluge of swimming pool water that had drenched almost everything in the room. Striking the match on the side of the container he lit the cigar and took a deep breath, inhaling the mellow, refined smoke that resulted from the cigar being box aged for eight years, a process that allowed the carefully selected blend of leaves to meld perfectly together. He'd not smoked for years and never really lost the desire. He walked over to a sofa, removed some debris and collapsed onto the squelching wet leather. His head fell back and he stared up at the sky through the opening that used to be the pool. Jia entered the lounge holding something clenched in her fist.

"Look what I found in Smiths room". She tossed the small object over to Bond. He caught it and began to examine it. The key fob was a couple of inches long, mainly black with knurled chrome edging. There were three buttons that appeared to operate a cars door. He rotated the fob in his fingers and grinned when he saw the winged B of the Bentley Motor company.

"I know a man who'll be able to locate the car this belongs to". He couldn't contain his pleasure at the find. Jia collapsed next to him on the sofa.

"We need to get off this wreck first, but we appear to be in the middle of an international standoff with no way out".

"The Chinese will want their investment back".

"I'm not going back James". Jia looked genuinely petrified at the thought. Bond smiled and put his arm around her shoulder.

"I wasn't talking about you".

"You mean the bomb, or do you mean Adoula?"

"The bomb is at the bottom of the sea and I doubt he'll be much use to them now! Tell me how you avoided his amorous advances".

"I hit him with a wine bottle" Jia smiled.

"A wine bottle? I hope it wasn't expensive". Bond probed.

"He was raving about the initials being the same as his beloved Congo. So, I gave it him."

"You smashed a bottle of Domaine de la Romanee Conti over his head?" Bond was incredulous.

"I suppose I did. Was it expensive?"

"You could say that, and I can think of better things to do with a bottle". He could hardly hide his disgust as he took a deep sadistic drag on the cigar.

"Is it true that Cubans make the best cigars?" Jia moved closer to Bond; her fingers caressing his chest.

"Only those cigars that are rolled on the naked thighs of virgins".

Jia dismissed his comment with a sigh, leant over and placed her fingers around the cigar. She then took a long slow drag.

"I'd have never guessed you smoked". Bond pulled her closer.

"I don't". She replied mid cough. "These things will kill you".

Bond looked around the room taking in the utter carnage that had been inflicted upon it. The double doors at the entrance swung on their hinges and then toppled to the floor with a thunderous crash.

"I have heard that". He took another long rewarding draw and then exhaled; the smoke momentarily obscuring the view out of the back of the yacht. Jia took hold of the cigar again, much to Bonds amusement.

"What the hell. You only live once". Jia declared as she took another drag; blowing a large plume of fragrant smoke into the air. Bond stood and walked through the dissipating smoke towards where the double doors had hung. He looked down onto the small sundeck and garage area at the stern. To the port side, was the Seabreacher hung from a small crane. It gently swung in unison with the motion of the yacht.

"Some would say twice". Bond knelt and picked an object up from the floor.

"Just before you entered the room; in a moment of solace, I was wondering why you assassinated the General when we first boarded. He'd just shouted Tiějiang. Which I assumed was an instruction to Smith but why kill the General and not Smith. That has bothered me". Bond turned to face Jia; a Glock 17 pointed in her direction.

"Smith had no intention of intervening. He's painfully loyal to Adoula and he had not received any orders".

"I did wonder. Why kill the General?"

"I'm sure you have already come to a conclusion". Jia was evasive but calmly probed Bond.

"You completed your mission. I believe Beijing set this whole thing in motion, driven by Adoula and the opportunity to dominate the supply of tantalum, but then got cold feet. The General saw an opportunity to make an immense amount of money and with Adoula still enthusiastic he decided to go rogue; both thinking they could carry the whole thing off between them. Beijing needed to stop them before it all got out of hand. They knew your hatred for Adoula would drive you on to complete the mission. The ship out there is just an insurance policy. The bomb was never going to be allowed to leave these waters and now they want it back".

"That's an accurate summary James. We are on the same side".

"The problem is I believe the PLA still want their intelligence operative. Our Minister for defence spooked them, announcing we knew what they were doing. That's why this whole scenario was allowed to play out as long as it did, and I have no idea if M is still alive. I appear to be the fall-back option. It won't be long before another assault squad is sent over. The question is; what are you going to do?" Bond stepped towards Jia.

"That is not my mission. My mission is over. Believe me James. I'm finished: Done with this business". Bond moved closer, the Glock remained aimed in Jia's direction.

"Stand up and hold out your hand". Bond snapped. She did as she was told. Her hands nervously shook.

"Please James don't…" Bond grasped her right hand and placed the Glock in the palm, closing her fingers around it. He stepped back.

"If that is really the case; you have an important decision to make and not much time to make it in".

"HMS Albion, we note your desire to assist, but we are quite capable of aiding any one aboard the yacht. The "_Republique du Zaire_" sails under the Chinese flag and is clearly floating in territorial waters that fall under the jurisdiction of the Peoples Liberation Navy of China and her allies. Your assistance and presence is not required".

"We have a duty to save life at sea as spelled out in Article 98 of the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea and regulation 33.1 of the SOLAS Convention. I quote Every State shall require the master of a ship flying its flag, in so far as he can do so without serious danger to the ship, the crew or the passengers: Sub clause A. to render assistance to any person found at sea in danger of being lost and sub clause B. to proceed with all possible speed to the rescue of persons in distress, if informed of their need of assistance, in so far as such action may reasonably be expected of him. We received a distress call, so we are therefore duty bound to proceed with all speed to render assistance". Captain Wu Yungsheng was becoming weary of this verbal joisting.

"HMS Albion, we have received intelligence that terrorists are aboard. It would be dangerous for your crew". He was starting to sound impatient.

"I repeat we have a duty to render assistance. That duty applies to all persons in distress, without distinction. The nationality of the vessels or of the persons, their legal status and the activity in which they are engaged are irrelevant. The fact that you consider the persons are engaged in an unlawful activity does not make any difference to our duty to rescue. We are not withdrawing". The reply came over the Changsha's radio.

"Captain you are well versed in maritime law. I am also. I quote the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea Part II: Territorial Sea and Contiguous zone. Section 3: Innocent passage in the territorial sea. Subject A: Rules applicable to all ships. Article 18: Meaning of passage; Sub-clause 2 Passage shall be continuous and expeditious. You are at anchorage!"

"I presume I am now talking to the Captain of the Changsha. Captain Wu Yungsheng. If that is the case you are indeed correct, but passage as defined by yourself also provides for stopping and anchoring if they are incidental to ordinary navigation or are rendered necessary by _force majeure_ or distress or for the purpose of rendering assistance to persons, ships or aircraft in danger or distress". Beaumont wasn't sure how long he could keep the war of words going before the war became hot and very real.

"You have not sort permission for this incursion Captain Beaumont". Captain Wu Yungsheng was clearly losing his temper.

"The right of assistance entry permits entry into territorial sea by ships without permission of the coastal State for the limited purposes of rescue or assistance. This principle of customary international law is also reflected in the "duty to render assistance" described in Article 98 of the LOSC". Captain Beaumont winked at Felix. Felix returned to staring into his binoculars.

"Sir we have a track in the water; possible torpedo incoming; North by Northwest". The bridge burst into Activity; alarms sounding and lights flashing.

"Deploy all countermeasures. Action stations: Right full rudder: Full speed".

"Sir we are at anchor!"

"I know". Captain Beaumont's reply was stern, but calm, his intension was to swing his ship on its anchor to face the direction of the incoming threat and minimize the presented mass of his ship. "I want that Wildcat in the air immediately. Await my orders to launch the Stingrays". The ship began to shudder as its engines and bow thrusters were increased to maximum power and the hull groaned as it pulled against the enormous chain that tethered it to the seabed. "Get me the Captain of the Changsha. I want to know what the hell…"

"Belay that order Captain". Felix yelled. He thought he'd seen movement at the stern of the yacht and had been studying the track in the water. He had a suspicion what the incoming device was but needed confirmation. That came from the radio operator.

"Sir. There appears to be a dolphin requesting permission to board!"

Hai Jun Shang Wei (Lieutenant) Shi Huaqing was coming to the end of his duty roster. He had been stood on the bridge of the destroyer Changsha for almost eight hours, several of those during the standoff with the British vessel. His eyes were beginning to ache from the strain of staring through his binoculars for much of that time. They ached so much he had to rub them when he thought he had seen something unusual. He rubbed them again and then returned the binoculars to his eyes to confirm what he had seen. He scanned the sea between the yacht and the British ship. At first, he couldn't see anything and began to think tiredness had been taunting him and then there it was, just breaking the surface of the water heading towards the aft of the British ship: A dolphin. Huaqing turned to Hai Jun Shang Xiao (Captain) Wu Yungsheng and said excitedly "Xiānshēng, shuǐzhōng yǒuyī zhǐ hǎitún" as he pointed out the dolphin in the water. Realization began to dawn upon him as the fading sun began to reflect of the exposed glass cockpit of the "dolphin"; this was no normal Delphinidae. "They are escaping in a dolphin". He blurted out. Captain Wu glared at him. Not happy with the show of exuberance.

"Control yourself Lieutenant. You have been on station too long. A dolphin can be a common sight in these waters". Huaqing calmed himself and refocused his binoculars. His shift was indeed almost over, and his Captain wouldn't appreciate any more excitement.

"Captain Wu Yungsheng to end this standoff I am prepared to withdraw. The yacht is sailing under the Chinese flag. I believe you are more than capable of helping any survivors. I have made my point about freedom of navigation. I hope the next time we meet it will be under less contentious circumstances". Captain Beaumont gave an instruction to raise anchor.

"HMS Albion; your desire to de-escalate the situation is commendable, but we will be lodging a stern representation with the British Government to express our strong dissatisfaction".

"You do that". Beaumont whispered. He then turned to Felix. "That was the easy part, now for the red tape. I do hope your friend was worth it. I should really place him under arrest but given the detail you have supplied and the circumstances we can forego that formality. He won't be going anywhere soon".

Bond and Jia were escorted by an armed Royal Marine to the bridge. Both were overjoyed when they saw Felix stood with the Captain.

"Thank you, Captain Beaumont. I do hope we weren't too much of an inconvenience". Bond held out his hand.

"All in a day's work Mr Bond. As our motto says _Fortiter, Fideliter, Feliciter _Boldly, Faithfully, Successfully. I believe we have been all three today". Captain Beaumont shook Bonds hand and then retired from the bridge.

"Felix". Jia squealed as she ran over to him and held him tightly.

"Felix you old Texan dog. You don't know how relieved I am to see you". Felix's phone again burst into the "Star spangled banner".

"How do you turn this off James? It's on repeat and it won't stop". Felix looked deflated. Bond inquisitively accepted the phone from Felix. Looked it over and took a moment of consideration.

"Just one moment". He walked over to a door that led outside and tossed the phone overboard. "There you go Felix, sorted". Bond then turned to Jia. "It suddenly occurred to me; I still don't know what the Q stands for". He leant over and kissed her on the cheek, running his fingers over where the tattoo on her left shoulder was.

"My mother always said I should have been born into royalty; so much so she always called me the Queen".

"For Queen or Country James?" Felix slapped his old friend and colleague on the back.

A dry smile formed on Bonds face "What a choice!"

"People believe the Brits are a spent force; hell, even the Brits believe they are. Yet you've saved the day again James. Nobody does it better. I do hope you will never change". Felix laughed out loud.

**0045**

**Sincere condolences**

The Aston Martin DB5 approached Kingford Hall and passed through a gate with stone piers surmounted by ball finials set beside a stone and slate lodge that had stood at the entrance since 1841. The car followed the wide undulating drive that cut through a belt of mature beech and horse chestnut trees; it passed across a small stone bridge that spanned a still lake. A news broadcast interrupted the jazz music that was playing on the radio.

"Breaking news: The Prime minister has just announced her resignation. She is to leave Downing Street, drawing her two-year tenure to a close. At this stage the reasons are unclear, but it is widely thought to be connected to the ongoing United Nations investigation into the election and subsequent mysterious death of the Democratic Republic of Congo's President Patrice Katengi Aduola …" Bond turned the radio off. He already knew the whole sordid story.

Beyond the lake the driveway cut through a wide-open park populated by a large herd of grazing deer. The park was flanked by lawns and ornamental trees and climbed steeply towards the Hall. The DB5 turned the corner and the occupants were confronted by an enormous wrought-iron gate adorned with an enamelled crest and screen wall that partially hid the entrance courtyard. Bond manoeuvred the car through the gate into a tarmacked area that stood before the entrance. The car park was relatively empty except for what Bond had come looking for. The Bentley Continental GT sat alone in front of the east wing orangery, its Maroon paint work dulled by a cloak of dust.

Kingford Hall, a grade 1 listed building stood in the centre of the park; it was an impressive building built from ashlar and slate in the Jacobethan style and consisted of a three-storey manor house with stone mullioned windows, projecting bays, obelisk finials, and ornate cornices. Bond climbed out of the Aston Martin and walked towards the large wooden double doors at the entrance. As he tentatively knocked to announce his presence, he read a notice that had been pinned to the door. It read "Billecart and Loxley are currently in administration. Please contact…" That may save a few awkward questions he thought as he turned towards the Bentley.

"Can I help you sir?" An old bald man dressed in a well-worn cream Arran jumper and faded jeans enquired.

"I was hoping to speak to the owner. My name is James Bond and I represent the person who has been awarded custody of that fine machine over there". Bond pointed towards the Bentley.

"Mr Loxley disappeared a couple of weeks ago, shortly after Mr Billecart's unfortunate accident in Dubai. Some say he absconded with the companies' petty cash before his wife could divorce him. Others say the mafia did for them both due to numerous dodgy dealings. Whichever it is I'm sure justice will be dealt". He whispered. "All I know is I look after the gardens and I'm not quite ready for retirement just yet".

"Well I hope whoever takes this place on retains your services. You don't mind if I take the car?" Bond politely asked.

"If you've got the key Sir, be my guest".

Bond removed the key fob from his pocket and pressed the unlock button. The Bentleys indicators flashed. He walked over to the Aston and tapped on the passenger window. Jia wound the glass down. Her eyes peered over the top of large oval sunglasses.

"I'm going to trust you to drive this, while I drive the Bentley. Just remember it is my pride and joy". He nervously grinned.

"I'll follow you anywhere James!" Jia merrily exclaimed.

"There's just one last thing I have to do and then the world is ours for the taking. Just follow me".

Bond sat in the Bentley and his fingers curled around the steering wheel and felt the coolness of the leather that took thirteen hours to hand stitch in the Bentley factory in Crewe. The tips of his fingers touched the long gearshift paddles. Feeling their knurled texture, he selected first of eight gears and the beast effortlessly moved forward with a burbling sonorous exhaust note. Bond noted the centre stack of the dashboard gently rotate. What was once three traditional analogue dials displaying outside temperature, a compass and chronometer had smoothly rotated and transformed into an ultra-modern touch screen infotainment display. He spoke to the on-board satellite navigation system. A gentle feminine voice replied through the eighteen illuminated speaker grills of the expensive audio system confirming the destination and the satellite navigation was automatically set.

The house was a modern semi-detached property built in a quiet cul-de sac. Bond knocked on the black composite door; part of him hoped no one would answer. Movement behind the frosted glass denied him an easy get away and did nothing to easy his anxiety. The door was opened by a blonde-haired woman in her late twenties. She wore a simple white t-shirt and faded jeans and looked as though she had been busy with household chores, the vacuum cleaner in the hallway with its unravelled power cable pointed to that, her hair was ruffled, and she appeared distracted.

"Mrs. Broadhead?" Bond enquired.

"I'm sorry I haven't got time…"

"You misunderstand. I'm a friend of Sean's. I was with him at the end". The revelation clearly upset Susie Broadhead. Her eyes began to glaze. The appearance of a young boy at her side distracted her. He was about six years old and held his mother's hand tightly.

"You must be Daniel". Bond crouched looking into the boy's blue eyes "I'm a friend of your father. He wanted me to return this to his little man". Bond produced the green plastic soldier out of his jacket pocket and handed it towards the young boy. Daniel looked at his mother for approval and then tentatively picked the toy from the strange man's palm.

"Do you want to come in Mr.?"

"I can't stay. I shouldn't really be here, but I promised to return the soldier". Bond ignored the request for his identity.

"They said it was a training incident". Susie was seeking clarification.

"I can't discuss the details but believe me your husband was a very brave man. He died doing his duty. I have something else for you". He wanted to move the conversation onto safer territory so pointed down the drive at the maroon Bentley. All three walked towards the car.

"Shall we say this is a gift from those who sent Sean into harm's way. I've taken the liberty to sign everything over to you. There'll be no questions asked. If you so desire you can sell it, it's worth about eighty thousand pounds, but before you make any decision take a look in the boot". Bond pressed the remote release and the boot lid popped open. Both Susie and Daniel peered into the dark interior. Inside were two large nylon bags filled with Fifty- and Twenty-pound notes. A third smaller bag brimmed with gold South African Kruger Rand coins; several had spilled over into the boot.

"I don't understand". Susie looked at Bond searching for an explanation; tears forming in her eyes.

"Sometimes we are asked to do the wrong thing in the name of Queen and Country. Sometimes the good guys lose and the bad guys walk away. Walk back to their life of luxury, whilst those left behind try to make sense of it all and live off an inadequate soldier's pension. This time things are going to be different". Bond reached inside his jacket and retrieved an envelope and handed it to Susie "If you accept, this is an introductory letter to Flemings the investment bank. Make an appointment, the number is at the top, show them this letter and they will deal with everything. I'm not sure how much is in here, and I understand nothing will ever replace Sean, but you will be extremely wealthy, and you and Daniel will never want for anything ever again". Susie was bewildered and speechless. She just managed to say,

"Thank you".

"Please accept my sincere condolences. I must go now. You will never see me again. Goodbye". Bond turned and started walking away.

"Did they walk away?" Susie called after the mysterious man. Bond turned, a look of slight confusion on his face, not sure who she was referring to. "The bad guys; did they walk away?"

"No. They did not". He turned and crossed the road towards his parked Aston Martin.

Jia sat in the driver's seat of the DB5. The passenger door opened and Bond slid in.

"Are you ok?" She enquired. He nodded. "What's this for?" Jia flicked the Bakelite cap on the gear stick revealing a lipstick red button. Bond gently removed her hand away from the gear knob and the ejector seat launch button.

"It's ere, a conflict resolution device for relationships that are in trouble. Let's not worry about that shall we: Let us look forward to taking the rough with the smooth". He gently closed the cap, clicking it firmly back in place. Jia placed her hand on Bonds thigh and squeezed.

"Marriages should be based on trust". She felt the wedding ring with her thumb. "Do you trust me James?" Bond patted her hand and smiled, remaining silent. Jia shrugged her shoulders and licked her lips as she turned the ignition key and revved the 4.0 litre inline six-cylinder engine.

"Where too now?"

Bond contemplated his next move; looked wistfully across at the Bentley Continental GT and announced, "I think it's time I visited the Bentley dealership in Mayfair". He flicked his left wrist revealing a stainless-steel Rolex Submariner that had been hidden under his jacket sleeve. "There's still time before it closes". He'd received the watch, a mysterious gift, in the morning post; No explanatory note, just the watch in a padded envelope. He instantly recognized the unusual dual triangle hour markers of Smiths Rolex. His suspicions regarding who the secret benefactor was were confirmed when he read the inscription crudely etched on the back "_Got him_". Bond smirked as he reached across and turned the volume dial on the radio. The car pulled away as Jia engaged first gear. A news broadcast had begun;

"In her final act as Prime Minister, Julia Cartwright has posthumously honoured Gareth Mallory the head of the Secret Intelligence Service, more widely known as MI6. Mr Mallory was murdered in an elaborate act of terrorism in Singapore last week. In other news the Business Secretary has today announced a controversial deal with a leading Chinese technology company …"

**Epilogue: **

**Chinese Military Intelligence headquarters, Beijing:**

**Several weeks earlier.**

"…. The manufacture of the device can now be progressed to the next stage. We need to test its effectiveness. To that end Black Swan should be so much more than mere intelligence gathering. It should live up to its name. The device is already at our holding station and can be quickly adapted. I propose we test it on this troublesome region. The rebel factions and their Rwandan masters need to be taught a lesson. The Sword of Southern China must be avenged. We should consider neutralising their supply of wealth and cleanse the region, especially know we have the added concern of Ebola". General Zhao Shangzhi again slammed his fist down hard against the desk showing his frustration. General Wang Xiaohu stood and glared at the man to his left and then spoke calmly.

"We have so far been successful in our clandestine conquests and we are now moving into the most sensitive phase with activities in Europe and South America. To create a Black Swan event in Africa would be utter madness. The West will not be fooled, and they will not stand idly by. We do not intend to use the device. It is just bait. As for the Kivu region we will allow the British to expend their energy and enthusiasm. Let them sacrifice their military and believe they are making a difference. We will then flex our overriding might and take back control. The British can be bought with a trade deal".

"We need to project our power. If we are to rely on the Tantalum bomb to level the playing field between our arsenal and the Americans and the Russians, we need to know it is effective. Adoula is on board. He is eager to rid his nation of the rebels. You are risking appearing weak General". General Zhao Shangzhi collected several folders from the desk and stormed out of the room.

"Shangzhi is becoming a liability". General Xi Chen expressed his concern. "Shall I have him arrested?"

"No: Once we have the intelligence operative and the information we need. We will close the operation down and tidy up all loose ends. Agent Tiějiang you are to watch the General closely and take appropriate action if he looks like he is straying from our intended path".

"What about the asset we have in the Congo?" Agent Tiějiang spoke quietly.

"Patrice Adoula's fate will be left to your discretion". The agent nodded acknowledgement.

"As for the intelligence operative; this is your target". General Xi Chen handed over a photograph. It was of a portrait of a handsome man with dark closely cropped hair, a three-inch-long, thin vertical scar down his right cheek; cold blue grey eyes and a somewhat cruel mouth. "His name is James Bond. He is a 00 agent for MI6. You are to befriend him, gain his confidence. If we cannot recruit him, then you know what to do Agent Tiějiang".

"If I am to absorb myself in British society, perhaps you should refer to me in English and refer to me by my name, not my designation".

"As you wish Agent Tinsmith, we have every confidence in your ability Major Liu". General Xi Chen turned away and began to speak to his colleague, in effect dismissing the agent. Major Liu Jia turned and purposely marched out of the room. She knew exactly what to do.

**The End.**

**James Bond will return**

1 NFIB is the National Fraud Intelligence Bureau

2 Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces

3 **_The Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda_**: The FDLR currently operates in eastern Congo and Katanga province with an estimated 2,000 combatants.**_The Allied Democratic Forces: _**ADF is a Ugandan rebel group based along the Rwenzori Mountains of eastern Congo that currently numbers approximately 500 combatants.

**_The Lord's Resistance Army: _**LRA is a Ugandan rebel group currently based along the northern border areas of Congo as well as in the eastern Central African Republic.

**_The National Liberation Forces: _**FNL is a Burundian rebel group originally formed in 1985 as the military wing of the Hutu-led rebel group, the PALIPEHUTU.

**_Mai-Mai Militias: _**There are currently six Mai-Mai militias (community-based militia groups) operating in the Kivus: the Mai-Mai Yakutumba, Raia Mutomboki, Mai-Mai Nyakiliba, Mai-Mai Fujo, Mai-Mai Kirikicho, and Resistance Nationale Congolaise.

4 Limestone towers


End file.
